The Human Condition
by SourXMash
Summary: Part II...Three years after the events of the Phoenix, those touched most harshly by her power have attempted to move on and rebuild...but those who do not learn from the past are forever doomed to repeat it...
1. Chapter 1

Dawn was nigh over the palatial estate at the edge of Bayville, New York, the glowing pink and orange rays of the slowly rising sun catching on the miniscule beads of dew that littered the manicured lawn in limitless numbers. The mansion was secluded, hidden from immediate view by ancient oak trees and a high brick wall that helped the sprawling estate give off an aura of not New York but of a romantic English mansion, a possible setting for the opening of an urbane Oscar Wilde play. However, this mansion was not the setting of a play but rather a school, a school for young mutants from all across the globe to foster and develop their abilities, far from the prying eyes and judgmental minds of the human population. Once the day has started, the mansion swells with the sounds of teenagers at work and at play. This was not yet a full day, however, but the mere beginnings of it, and most of the residents were still fast asleep, their minds concentrated on garnering every last possible bit of sleep before they are awoken to train anew. The only room of the mansion with any readily visible signs of active life was the kitchen, where two of the mansion's oldest residents were busying themselves with the morning papers and breakfast.

Logan Howlett, a teacher at the institute and a longtime friend of Professor Xavier, had never been accused of being laid back once in his life. He was the type of person who preferred the quiet solitude provided by a motorcycle and a lonesome dirt trail, or a period of reflection enhanced by a cigar and a can of Canadian beer to any type of actual human interaction. However, Logan was also a highly disciplined man who took his work at the school very seriously, no matter how aggravating he found the students at times. However, on that particular April morning, he was annoyed not by a current student but a former one. A former student that was, at the moment, grinning from ear to ear for a reason Logan could not fathom. Logan would attempt to engross himself in the news of the day, however, he would invariably turn back to Scott's smiling face, and the rage would bubble back up. After fifteen minutes of this, Logan finally lost his patience, casting aside the front page to the lacquered maple in front of him.

"Alright, you got me curious. What the hell're you smiling for, slim?" At the question, Scott looked up from the comics section and paused for several seconds before answering Logan, as though Scott assumed Logan was talking to someone else.

"Oh, no particular reason. Just thought Garfield was really good today. Here, take a look." Scott answered quickly; very obviously eager to end any questioning directed his way.

"I ain't readin' that crap comic. That fur ball hasn't been funny in ten years. So I'm gonna ask you again, and this time I'd appreciate a straight answer." Logan growled, thrusting an index finger in Scott's direction. Scott took in a deep breath and glanced around the kitchen, only turning back to face Logan when he was positive they were only two in the room.

"Ok, Logan, I'll tell you, but I need you to keep this a complete secret. I don't want anyone in this mansion to know about this."

"Yer kiddin', right?"

"Logan, I want this to stay between you and me. I don't want anyone in here to know about this, not even Ororo or the Professor." Logan rolled his eyes.

Look kid, I ain't gonna tell anybody. Now spit it out," Logan took a large gulp of coffee. "Even I'm startin' to grow old." Scott let out a defeated sigh before reaching into the pocket of his tan khakis and placing a small, rectangular black box in front of the older teacher. Upon opening the box, Logan's eyes grew wide in disbelief, his mouth open and moving but no words forming. He gently set his mug of coffee down on the table.

"This what I think it is?"

It's-it's an engagement ring. I'm heading down to Penn State to pick Jean up right after she gets out of her Biology class. There's a restaurant right near campus that she loves. I'm going to propose to her there."

"So yer finally proposin' to red? Bout damn time if you ask me. When'd ya pick this up?" Logan questioned, his tone taking on that of a proud father while his enhanced eye contact flipping between Scott's ruby quartz glasses and the ring, standing erect in the white velvet of the jewelry box.

"I had it designed specially. It's a white gold band with a twenty-four caret diamond-"

"And a ruby quartz setting around the diamond. Nice touch, kid." Logan handed the ring back to Scott and grasped his cup of coffee anew. "So what's got you keepin' so tight lipped? It ain't like Jean's gonna turn you down or anything." The proud smile left Scott's lips with no trace to show it had ever been there.

"I don't know that for certain, Logan. Jean's a sophomore in college now, and we've only seen each other on holidays and the occasional weekend." Logan groaned at the thought of what he was going to say.

"Look kid, you and red have been making eyes at each other ever since the two of you got to this place. If the two of you were any more perfect for each other, you'd be attached at the hip. So do all of us a favor and just ask her." Logan took a long sip of his coffee, letting his words sink in. "Quit second guessing yourself. It's a crappy quality for a leader." Scott chuckled.

"So it's just that simple?"

"Kid, I've known ya for a good long time. You wouldn't have bought that ring at all if you really thought she'd say no."

"I'm just a little nervous about this. This is…this is a big step for us."

"I ain't all that good at pep talks, slim, and I can't say that I'm lookin' to improve. Just get down there and ask her."

"The games we regret the most are the ones we don't play at all, huh?"

"Yea, something like that." Scott stood up from the table and pushed his chair back under.

"Alright, I should probably get going before rush hour hits ninety-five. Uh, Logan, you're, uh, not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"It's a deal if you leave now." Logan growled as he grabbed at the different sections of newspaper discarded to the glossed wood in front of him, while Scott hurriedly walked in the direction of the mansion's expansive garage. As Scott's form turned around a corner and disappeared from view, Logan arched an eyebrow, and then grabbed at a specific section of the paper, a singular goal contained within conscious mind.

"I knew Garfield still sucked."

* * *

The weather was typical of a waning New England summer, the sun shining as the temperature hit a comfortable seventy-two. After sitting in a two hour clog near the New York City exit, Scott found the rest of his trip relatively easy going. Barreling down Interstate 95 with Tom Petty emanating from the speakers at top volume, Scott took advantage of the noisy solitude to contemplate not only what Wolverine had said earlier, but his own churning cauldron of emotions.

_I love Jean, I know that for sure. So why am I so nervous about this? I've never been this nervous about anything before in my life. Man, I fought Apocalypse and didn't get this worked up over it. I saw the Professor, the man who's been practically a father to me, attempt to kill the entire team. I remained calm then, why the hell can't I do it now? Goddamnit, Scott, you've got to get a handle on this._

Just then, a large metal sign, painted brown and held perpendicular to the ground by two thick metal poles rose into Scotts view from the side of the highway. The sign proclaimed in white luminescent letters, "Penn State Next Right." Scott sighed, pushing his doubts back into the closet of his mind for later consideration as he took the off-ramp towards Jean's college. As he steered his convertible towards the tall concrete sign that marked the entrance to the sprawling grounds of academia, Scott began to swallow in a vain attempt to dislodge the lump growing within his throat. After three minutes of that repeated activity, Scott gave up and instead worked on merely ignoring his building feeling of anxiety.

"Hey, Jean, you're out of Bio, right?" Scott had his cellphone out almost as soon as his prized convertible beeped shut.

"Scott? Um…yea, I just got out, why? Do we have a mission?" Scott couldn't describe it, but he felt as though there was something…out of place in Jean's voice. He pushed the thought out of mind, noting that this was not the time to get cold feet.

"No, nothing like that, Jean. I just had a little free time and thought I'd come down and take you out to lunch."

"You're here? In University Park? Oh My God! Scott. That's so sweet!" Jean cooed loudly into the phone, so loudly that Scott had to move the earpiece several inches from his ear in order to avoid hearing loss. _I guess I was wrong about her voice being off_, Scott thought with a grin. _She sounds like the same old Jean now._

"Yea, I'm here next to the…" Scott let his voice trail off for a second, "large brick building covered in ivy." Jean chuckled softly.

"Scott, that describes almost every building here. Are you telling me that you still don't know your way around this campus?"

"Like you said, I described every building here."

"Are you still near the guest parking?"

"Yea."

"Well, just wait by your car then. I'll be there in a few minutes."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jean came into Scott's view as he leaned against the hood of his car, one foot propped on the rear bumper. Within one second of seeing her, all doubts left Scott's mind. The way her shoulder-length hair waved behind her face, the natural sunlight bringing out the true ferocity of its red tint. Swept away from her forehead, one could clearly see her emerald green eyes, captivating eyes that carried both deep intelligence and sparkling creativity. The type of green eyes that only further complemented her smooth, flawless skin. She walked with a graceful confidence that not only complimented her statuesque physique but also drew the attention of everyone in a mile's vicinity, regardless of their previous activities. She reminded Scott of Lauren Bacall in Casablanca, a movie that had found a large fan in Scott Summers.

"Hey Scott. This certainly is a surprise. Any particular occasion?" Scott grinned as he pushed himself away from his car and stood tall to greet his girlfriend, the ring box moving in his pocket as though to remind him of his purpose.

"Oh, now I need to have a reason to visit you?" Scott jokingly asked as he accepted a small peck on the cheek from Jean.

"I never said that; I'm just not used to-" Jean's statement was interrupted as a car drove by, causing Jean to grip her left temple as though the passing automotive caused her searing pain. Her eyes clamped shut along with her jaw, her teeth grinding together painfully.

"Jean, are you ok?" Scott kneeled down as Jean fell to the asphalt below her feet.

"Yea, I'm-I'm fine. I've been getting headaches on and off for a few weeks. It's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? Maybe we should talk to the Professor about this." Scott suggested as helped Jean to her feet, one hand supporting her elbow as his other supported her back. Although on her feet, it took another minute until Jean let her eyes reopen, making eye contact with Scott despite his ruby-quartz sunglasses.

"I'm fine Scott, really. I've had a lot of pressure in my classes this semester. I'm just pushing myself harder than usual." Jean's response was a logical and rational one, however one Scott barely heard. His attention was taken by a flicker in Jean's eyes, a momentary interruption that seemed to announce the arrival of something malicious. The mirage only lasted a second and yet it burned with a grand intensity that would not allow its presence to be ignored. Before he could grant this phantom any more thought or credence, Jean broke through his daydreaming haze.

"Scott? Are you in there?"

"Huh?" Scott shook his head. "Yea, sorry about that. Come on, let's go to lunch." Scott held open the passenger door for Jean before walking around and climbing into the driver's seat, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street exiting the University grounds.

Scott and Jean arrived at the restaurant a scant ten minutes after departing Penn State's campus. Had they walked, their trip would have been only half; however it took longer on the paved roads due to red lights and one way streets. The convertible pulled up to the curb a block away from the restaurant, where the lunch rush was clearly beginning, with students visibly pouring into Ma's in a constant, fluid fashion.

Ma's was the type of restaurant that people would lightly describe as a "hole in the wall." Outside, the once red paintjob had faded over the years into a murky mixture of red and brown, a featureless color that neither attracted nor repelled, but simply blended into the background of the cityscape. If a hungry passerby did happen upon the simple building, they would enter through a cheap screen door, the screens themselves patched over innumerable times. The door itself operated on a simple spring, the arrival of a new customer announced by the clattering slam of wood on wood. Within, there was a simple Formica counter with six metal barstools attached to the floor, allowing the customers to observe their food being prepared at the grill set up flush with the wall behind. Along with six booths and four free-standing tables, the restaurant had assured itself that it would never win an award for décor. The food, however, was another story. Rich and filling, the dishes hit the very definition of comfort food. Students flocked to the eatery in droves, briskly walking past popular fast food restaurants such as Taco Bell and Friendly's to arrive at the diminutive but popular diner.

"Is it always this crowded? Scott asked as he killed the engine and walked around the back of the two-seater to open Jean's door. Even from their considerable distance, Scott could easily see figures filing in and out of the front door in perpetual movement.

"More or less. This restaurant has somewhat of a cult following," Jean mentioned as Scott unlocked her door. "Scott, you don't have to do that."

"I know, but I like to." Jean rolled her eyes, but still accepted Scott's extended hand as he helped her from the low car.

"I swear; I have the nicest boyfriend of the 1700's." Jean laughed as she stood to her feet. Scott frowned despite his amusement.

"That's funny; you've never complained before about my manners." Jean, stopped, then quickly spun one-hundred and eighty degrees and caught Scott's lips with her own, crossing her wrists behind his neck.

"Who said I was complaining?"

* * *

**_Students, please report to the war room at once. Full uniform is required. Attendance is mandatory, and any student missing will be punished severely._** The telepathic message boomed through the minds of every resident of Xavier's mansion, sending students scrambling for any possible route to the lower level, be it by elevator, stairs, or other, more unorthodox means. Two students, however, were not at all concerned with how by some miraculous stroke of luck, managed to be training when the telepathic meeting call had been dispersed. Since the training gymnasiums were located on the same lower level as the War Room, the two were now struggling into their uniforms in front of the lockers, the breathable, skintight leather often difficult to slip into quickly. Their voices echoed throughout the deserted space, sound waves bouncing off of steel locker doors and slip-proof sheet-metal floors and ricocheting down toward the white-tile shower stalls opposite the entrance.

"You goht any ahdea whaht Xavier's got us down hehre fohr?" Sam Guthrie, a Kentucky native, questioned Roberto DaCosta the only other person currently inside the men's locker room. Sam had managed to pull the midnight blue uniform pants on, and was currently struggling to zip the attached top up over his lanky frame.

"Haven't heard anything, but if I had to guess, I'd say I'm being promoted to the field team full-time. The professor has probably noticed how talented I am, and he wants the younger students to see me as a role model." Stated Roberto, the cologne of arrogance swirling about him in an invisible haze. The teenage Brazilian was already adorned in full uniform and was busying himself by combing his dark, curly hair, admiring his reflection in the small magnetic mirror attached to the inside of his open locker door. He had purchased the trinket several months ago for this expressed purpose, as he had grown to hate fighting for room at the sink in the early hours of the morning right before surprise missions. And, at least according to Roberto, any mission before ten A.M. was a surprise mission.

"Hey, Roberto, does mah uniform look ahlraight?" Sam had finished pulling on his yellow boots, the final struggle in dressing in full uniform, especially for the six-foot-three boy who, by his own admission, was not the most graceful person on the planet, or even in the mansion. Roberto brushed several loose strands of hair into place before turning to face his friend. Sam would never admit it, but he had always held a slight bit of envy his friend for how graceful and suave he always seemed to be.

"You look fine, Sam. I mean, not as good as _I_ look, of course, but you look fine. Hey, did you clean your uniform? It looks almost new."

"Yeah, after thaht training session Wolverine had us run in thaht downpour, Ah had no choice. Damned thang was caked in mud." Roberto gained a quizzical look at the mention of this downpour.

"When did that happen? I don't remember any downpour." As Sam began to respond, the door to the locker room flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang as the remainder of the male student body began filing through the open entrance, rushing to quickly don their own uniforms. Within the windowless locker room, the sounds of students chattering, of locker doors slamming and feet stomping across the rough steel floor, swallowing Sam's response to Roberto's query in a hurried dissonance. The two boys made a great haste in escaping from the ever-growing crowd, knowing that a locker room is no fun in a quiet atmosphere, and they are easily comparable to torture chambers when crowded. Despite having a relatively small student body, especially when compared to other private teaching institutions, the students were all between the ages of fourteen and nineteen, the ages at which their hormones are raging tempests, and the youthful residents of Xavier's, mutants or not, were no exception to that law of nature.

* * *

No sooner had Sam Roberto made their way out of the gymnasium, however, than a second assault occurred upon their senses. A loud, indescribable noise filled the expansive metal hallway and their vision was clouded by a dense puff of blue-gray smoke, smoke that stank of burning sulfur.

"Guten Tag, gentlemen." Both Sam and Roberto stood over six feet, and as such they look downward to see the diminutive five-foot-four figure of Kurt Wagner, clothed in baggy pants and an equally baggy jacket over a red t-shirt, seemingly forgoing the required uniform.

"Dang it Kurt," Yelled Sam, coughing and sputtering for breath for several seconds before continuing, "You gotta learn ta wahrn us before yah do somethin' like thaht!"

"Sim, Kurt." Added Roberto, slipping back into his native Portuguese for a startled second as he waved a foul-smelling cloud away from his nose.

"And how exactly do you suggest I do zhat?" Grinned Kurt.

"Ah don't know and Ah don't care," Declared Sam. "Trah yellin' or somethin' like that." Roberto smacked Sam in the chest with the back of his hand and gave him a look that seemingly questioned Sam's ability to walk down the street in a straight line.

"Ve can haf zhis discussion later. Vraight now, ve haf to get to ze Var Room." Kurt hit a button on the large black watch wrapped around his left wrist, undergoing a massive transformation in less than a second. The image of a fresh-faced teenager gave way to a similar bone structure; however Kurt's face was covered with soft blue fur, as was the rest of his body, however the clothing he was wearing only a minute previous gave way to a specially designed field suit. It was completely red and black, except for a belt attached at the midsection and the three-fingered gloves on each hand, both of which were yellow. The shoulders extended over the arms about two inches, almost forming an inverted triangle. Most surprising to anyone gazing upon Kurt's true form, however, were the glaring anatomical differences. His hands had three fingers and his feet only possessed two toes, instead of the usual five. His ears were slightly pointed, but most startling was the long prehensile tail extending down from the small of his furry back. The triangular point at the tip of the tail contributed to an appearance that some had called "demonic," a point that had led to low self-esteem early in the young German's life. Once joining up with the mutant-friendly team, however, Kurt's esteem had quickly shot through the roof and he had dubbed himself "the fuzzy one." The elders of the mansion had marveled the complete turnaround in his personality, from shy and withdrawn to bubbly and warm, a seemingly born prankster.

* * *

"Students, calm yourselves at once!" Charles bellowed from his chair. The raging hormones from the locker room were still at a raging boil, and had spilled over into the War Room. The voices blended together, weaving themselves into one unintelligible drone. It was to be expected given their ages, however Charles already had his own worries and he was unusually anxious to be finished with this briefing. Before he could raise his voice again, however, Logan interrupted the conversations, albeit in his own unique way.

"Hey, quiet down!" Logan screamed as he bared his fists upright in front of him. Those who didn't immediately cease discussion at the sound of the institute's most pugilistic teacher quieted themselves the moment they heard the unique sound of Logan unleashing his claws, the sound of polished metal rubbing rapidly against bone and ligament. Three on each hand, they emerged from between the knuckles of his hand and each one measured nearly a foot in length. Constructed of solid adamantium, they each ended in a frighteningly sharp point. Logan stood there with his knees slightly bent, the razor-sharp points pointed towards the seated students, his fighting stance seemingly daring someone, anyone to make the slightest hint of a noise. No one so much as breathed loudly. After a pause, Logan retracted the dangerous implements beneath his skin once more and walked back towards the wall.

"They're all yours, Chuck." Logan said with the hint of a smirk across his lips as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, content to watch the meeting from the sidelines rather than actively participate. Charles glanced back at his colleague, happy that he clamed the hyperactive students, however disappointed in Logan's constant reliance on brute force to accomplish goals. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

"Yes, well, now that I have your collective attentions, I would like to discuss the reason I have gathered all of you here today. At exactly seven o'clock this evening, we will be receiving several new recruits. Now, normally I would not consider this an event that in any way necessitated a meeting, however, this is not a normal event. Hank, would you please bring up the holographic projector?"

"Certainly, professor." Henry flipped a multitude of switches on the small remote control he held within his massive paw, shutting down the overhead lights and flipping on the small onyx disc that sat in the middle of the table, a neon green light pouring upward out of it. The light took the imager of a young girl, roughly eighteen. The hologram showed a fantastic amount of detail, as a radiant smile could be clearly seen on her face.

"Our first recruit is Tabitha Smith, AKA Boom-Boom. She posses the power to create small plasma bombs with her hands. These plasma bombs can vary greatly in size, however they all carry a tremendous amount of concussive force. She was at one time a resident of this mansion; however, she left due to personal reasons. Many of you will no doubt remember her."

"Oh no, anyvun but her," Muttered Kurt, recalling the young girl's rather impulsive behavior with little fondness in his voice. Charles shot Kurt a quieting look, muffling any further commentary from the young mutant.

"As I was saying, Tabitha Smith was once a resident here, and she has requested to return to this institute. I have decided to honor her request."

"So what, you dragged us down here to tell us about a bunch of people that used to come here, left, and now they're back? Big deal." Robert Drake's voice carried across the room, loud and shrill. A rambunctious teenager, Robert was the one student who could make anyone else seem calm by comparison.

"Robert, please stay quiet until the end. I am not interested in hearing your commentary throughout the entirety of this meeting."

"I'm just saying-", Logan cut him off quickly

"Ice cube, another word comes out of your mouth and you've got five A.M. Danger Room sessions with me for a year. That goes double for the rest of ya." Whatever Bobby, as he often went by, was going to say remained unsaid as the brunette teenager sunk into his seat sheepishly. Charles motioned for Hank to switch to the next image, one of another teenage girl, however, unlike the first image, this girl wore a menacing scowl and a long, flowing cape.

"Our next new recruit is Wanda Maximoff, AKA the Scarlett Witch. Her powers are not clearly known, however she has been observed launching blue projectiles from her hands, and is known to have the ability to warp probability fields in her favor. She was formerly a resident with the Brotherhood of Mutants; however, she has informed me that living conditions have grown exceedingly rough. Apparently, Mystique left on a private mission around four months ago and has failed to return. According to Wanda, the remainder of the Brotherhood, has either moved out or has shown no interest in joining her at this institute." All of the students shared nervous glances, but not one dared to speak. Wanda's temper was the thing of legends, and, coupled with her dangerous powers, she was a force with which to be reckoned. Still, despite their fears, no one dared speak. Charles again motioned for the next image, this one of a tall, muscular man with close-cropped hair and a quiet expression, all illuminated green.

"Piotr Rasputin, AKA Colossus. A native of Russia and formerly employed by Magneto, he has the ability to transform his skin into a unique type of flexible steel. While in this steel form, he posses near-invulnerability and incredible strength. Piotr has informed me that his younger sister, Illyana, will be accompanying him to the institute.

"Oh gawd, Ah hope _heh_ ain't next" Rogue muttered to her friend and roommate, Katherine Pryde.

"Oh, I'll bet you do." Kitty whispered back in a quiet sing-song voice.

"Shut up. Ah don't know wha Ah talk to ya sometimes."

"Our next, and final recruit is Remy Lebeau, AKA Gambit, another former employee of Magneto's. He has the power to charge any object with kinetic energy, essentially turning that object into an explosive device."

"Professah! Yah cahn't beh serious ahbout letting him in hehre!" Rogue, a nineteen–year-old Mississippi native, jumped up in anger, her two-toned brunette and ivory hair whipping about.

Rogue," started the professor, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. "I will listen to any complaints you may possess after the briefing is complete. Until that time, however, I would appreciate a quiet atmosphere." A nasty scowl crossed Rogue's purple-painted lips, but she complied with the professor's wishes. "Thank you. As I was explaining, Mr. Lebeau can turn any inanimate object into an explosive device. In addition, he is well-versed in many types of martial-arts and gymnastics."

The professor paused before continuing, gazing out at the faces of his students. He could read their emotions without the slightest use of his telepathic abilities. They were angry, they were nervous, but most of all they were scared. He could hardly blame them, as this was not something he was entering into because he wanted to do so. However, he knew in his heart and mind that this was something that had to be done for the greater good of all mutants. Hank turned off the projector and brought the overhead lights back on to full power. Charles cleared his throat and began to speak again, making sure to make eye contact with every person in the room.

"Now, I understand that some of these people were once our enemies. Many, if not all of you, have fought with these mutants at one time or another. You may or may not have personal grudges against one or more of them. I can understand and respect your unease at opening your arms towards those you so recently fought against as enemies. However, as of seven P.M. tonight, these four mutants are no longer your enemies. They will be your housemates and your teammates, and you are to show them the same respect you would show any new guest of this institute. Any action, and I stress _any_ action, taken against any of our new members will result in severe punishment." Xavier paused, taking a moment to calm his voice. "You are representatives of the entire mutant community. I have complete faith in you all, and I know that I can trust each and every one of you to do the right thing. That is all; you are dismissed." The students erupted in a series of hushed conversations, every one concerning the new recruits. Most filed out in quick order, unsure how to deal with the punch of the news but knowing that the current location was not the place to do so. As Hank and Logan moved closer to Charles, only one student remained.

"I must say, Charles, that meeting could almost be considered a success." Hank quipped.

"They took the news better than I had expected, Hank. However, I still worry that I may be asking too much of them at one time."

"Hey, Professa, can…can Ah talk to ya fohr a second?" Charles peered around Henry's immense bulk, even though the feminine voice could only belong to one resident of the mansion.

"Of course, Rogue. How can we help you?"

"Look, Ah think ya know what this is about…" The southern Goth let her voice trail off.

"I believe I do. This would concern a Mr. Lebeau, would it not?"

"Look, Ah just don't see how ya can let him in hehre. He kidnapped meh! Heh used meh tah break his father outta some Assassin's mansion ohr something lahke that. The onla reason heh's comin hehre is ta get ta meh." Xavier knew Rogue well; she had been living at the mansion for several years, and had consulted her numerous times on the matter of her still-uncontrollable powers.

"Rogue, I understand your concerns well, however, this is not something I have entered into without thinking. I have been meeting with Wanda, Piotr and Remy for the past four months now, discussing the rules and regulations of the mansion and researching their unique abilities. In addition, due to Remy's…shadowed past, I have done a deep telepathic scan of his mind. If there were any ulterior motives behind his decision to join out team, I would know."

"Thaht's ahll well and good, but…Ah still don't lahke the ahdea of this."

"I am sympathetic to your concerns, Rogue; however I am not going to turn away any mutant without first giving them a chance to prove themselves. If Remy should attempt to harm you, or any other student for that matter, he will be castigated in the proper manner. However, I do not wish to speak in such hypothetical situations at this time." Rogue chewed on her lower lip, unsure of how to answer.

"Alraight…but Ah still don't lahke it."

"I am not asking you like it Rogue. All I am asking is that you enter into this with the same open mind you would grant any other mutant," Rogue's face fell even further, dreading living with her former enemy. "Rogue, should anything happen, please come to me. Just give this a chance before you condemn him." Rogue didn't answer, instead she simply nodded her head and trudged out of the War Room, leaving Logan and Charles standing alone, Dr. McCoy moving to the table, shutting down the projector and removing the information disk.

"Ya know, the kid's got a point. The guy did kidnap her." Logan growled.

"I realize this, Logan," Charles stated, his voice growing tense. "However, I set this institute up so that all mutants would have a safe place. I am not going to turn one away because of prior mistakes. As I recall, Logan," Charles said with a slight smile. "You were not always the model citizen you are today." Logan sneered at the last of Charles' comment.

"Yer annoyin' when yer right, Chuck."

* * *

Back in Pennsylvania, Scott and Jean were preparing to enter the diner when the door flew open with a brutal force, another young couple storming out in anger. The girl was short and skinny, with long brunette hair and glasses, while her boyfriend was significantly taller, however also exceptionally thin. He possessed dirty blonde hair that was close cropped and large blue eyes.

"Listen ya bastard, you tell me who that little tramp I saw you with was, or I swear to every god I can think of I will tear your balls clean off!" She spoke with a deep Chicago accent, and her thin wrist jingled with a multitude of bracelets as she thrust a finger in his direction. Her boyfriend paused mid-step, as though trying to decide whether to turn and answer the threat or continue walking. Scott was more intent on Jean, however, who had been clutching her temple ever since the two barreled out of the tiny restaurant.

"Listen, Jenny, I told you that wasn't me. You're mistaken. How many times can I tell you? Now leave me alone, I don't need a girlfriend who's gonna do nothing but accuse me of stuff!" Jean clutched her head again, this time with more force. Scott wrapped his arm around her shoulder, quietly asking her if she wished to leave, but Jean only shook her head no.

"Go to hell you scumbag, I know what I saw! You kissed some girl right before you walked in here! Who was she?" Jenny's voice was louder now than before, coming close to a screech.

"Look, quit worrying about it, cause we're broken up!" Another shout from the couple, another yelp of pain from Jean. Scott attempted to move Jean away from the verbal dispute that had, by this point, drawn the attention of almost every pedestrian within shouting range, but before he could, the wraith of the brawling couple before them boiled over.

"Tell me!" yelled Jenny, running into her former date and pushing him violently, sending her ex to the pavement in a clatter of limbs.

"Alright, you crazy bitch, you wanna know so bad, it was your roommate! At least she can go five minutes without going completely psycho!" Jenny yelled something before punching her ex-boyfriend in the nose, but no one heard what it was. As soon as the last syllables left his lips, Jean let out a bloodcurdling scream before clutching her head at the temples with both hands. Scott saw every muscle in his girlfriend's body tense, then go slack as Jean crumpled into Scott's arms, unconscious.

"Jean? Jean! Jean, wake up! Come on, wake up," Scott yelled as he cradled Jean's body. No one paid any attention to Scott and Jean at first, those who were around more engrossed in the violent spat that had erupted not ten feet away from the two young mutants. However, as Scott yelled his girlfriend's name again and again, people began to pay them heed. "Someone, call a hospital! Quick!" Scott yelled to the crowd, never taking his eyes off Jean for a second.

* * *

Author's Note: First things first, I don't own X-men: Evolution. They are the property of Marvel, Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, WB, and probably thirty-five other people I don't know. Point is, I don't own them, and I am making no profit off of them. Now, I know a lot of you think that this is a lot like how I began my last Evolution story, _Speaking In Tongues_, but that's not where I'm going with this. No crossovers this time; this story is pure X-men. Lastly, I would ask that you please review this story. Let me know what you liked, and what you think could improve. Remember, if you don't say anything, I won't know. Unlike a lot of these characters, I can't read minds. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Professor, Dr. McCoy, you made it!" Scott sprang from the hard plastic chair that sat near the door of the hospital lobby, quickly walking to greet his former teachers and current colleagues. The hospital lobby was crowded, with relatives and friends waiting on news concerning a high school fistfight that ended with one student smashing his opponent's head into a locker, several mothers whose toddlers had swallowed their playthings, and members of a local church, who had hosted a picnic earlier, a picnic that had inadvertently served some bad macaroni salad. Doctors rushed in and out of the dreary waiting room, some clutching charts, others calling out names, and still others merely running from one wing to another.

"Of course, Scott. We came as soon as you called. Has there been any news on Jean yet?"

"No, they haven't said a word," Scott's voice creaked, raw from earlier shouting and sobbing. "I keep asking, but no one will tell me anything." Even with the reflective glasses covering his eyes, it was plainly obvious that Scott was near the breaking point. He had been at the hospital since eleven-thirty, and a cursory glance at the clock revealed that it was nearly two o' clock. Charles glanced toward Hank before answering.

"Scott, calm down. Jean will be fine, I'm positive."

"I'm sorry, it's just…I-I wasn't expecting to see-this is-"

"Scott, calm down," Charles repeated. Just take a deep breath and sit down. Let's just wait until we hear from the doctors." By now, most of the occupants of the waiting room had noticed the immense hulk of blue fur that was Dr. Henry McCoy. Some paid no attention to him, others moved to the chairs placed furthest away from him, and still others shrank into the chairs in fear, too scared or dumbfounded to move. Upon first glance, it would be hard to blame the third group. Hank had the build and skeletal structure of a massive gorilla, large muscles rippling under thick blue fur. Along with his large, pearly-white fangs and gigantic paws, each one roughly large enough to engulf an entire human head, one would assume this was a fearsome predator. However, McCoy was nothing like the assumptions constantly made about him. Rather than a predator, Hank was more a thinker, possessing a mind that could easily rank among the most brilliant of today.

"Mr. Summers?" A doctor stood in the hallway leading to the emergency room. Scott's ears perked up, and he rushed over to the doctor with a speed that would make most observers believe that Scott's mutant ability was super speed.

"Is Jean ok? What happened?" The doctor, a man of about forty-five with more hair on his upper lip than on the top of his head, a fact that, sadly, did not deter from drawing a thin clump of wispy brown hairs from right to left over the shorn peak of his skull.

"She's fine, sir. We've given Ms. Grey a complete physical, and she appears to be in perfect health. I've ordered a series of blood tests to screen for any infection or possible drug use, and as soon as those come back, she'll be discharged."

"Is she awake? Can I go see her? What happened to her?" Scott's voice traveled a mile a minute, his words blending into each other with no discernable pause between.

"She regained consciousness about a half-hour ago, and she appears lucid. However, we've ordered several blood tests in order to rule out any infections or drug use. She's in room 115, second door on your left. You can go see her, but we may need to perform additional tests, so be prepared to return to this lobby." He had been a doctor for years, long enough to have developed an innate ability to decipher even the most garbled, frantic speech. He had also been a doctor long enough to develop an over-inflated ego, something that had made him somewhat of a pariah about the hospital. This was all unknown to Scott, however, who was so grateful to hear of Jean's recovery he quickly shook the doctor's hand and blurted out a few words of thanks before dashing off down the hallway that lay beyond. The Professor wheeled his chair past the doctor not long afterwards with no issue, however the doctor outstretched his arm when Henry attempted to lumber past.

"Sorry, sir, there are no," the squat doctor scanned the tall blue mutant from head to toe, with a repulsed sneer painted across his lips the entire time. "Pets allowed past this point." Henry arched a cerulean eyebrow at this gossamer insult before standing erect to his full six feet, flexing his thick, lengthy arms and glaring down at the doctor.

"Sir, might I possibly offer you the prospect of retracting that statement?"

* * *

Jean let her head hit the thin hospital pillow with a soft thud, blowing a stray strand of auburn hair out of her eye. _How long are they going to keep me here,_ she wondered with exasperation. _They've checked me out, I'm fine. I refuse to be coddled like this, not when-_

"Jean?" Scott was leaning into the room, one hand on either side of the doorjamb. Even with the sunglasses covering his eyes, it was obvious that he was wracked with worry; his thick brown hair mussed from his hand's constant motion through it.

"Scott, I…" Jean sat up in the mechanized hospital, unsure of what to say. Before she could say anything, however, Scott closed the distance between the door and her bed in just a few short steps, wrapping his arms around her in a strong hug.

"Jean, I'm so happy you're alright." Scott said when he finally released his grasp on her.

"I feel fine," Jean said with a smile. "I've got no idea what happened back there. One minute I have the most painful migraine of my life, and the next minute I'm waking up in a hospital. I've got to admit, it's a little unnerving."

"I cannot say that I blame you for feeling that way, Jean." Charles' voice called from behind Scott.

"Professor? When did you get down here?"

"Hank and I arrived about twenty minutes ago. We came as soon as Scott informed of what had happened." Scott stayed close by Jean's side, clutching her hand in his own, but he sidestepped so that the Professor could make eye contact with his former student. Jean let out an exasperated groan.

"I'm flattered, but really, I'm fine. I've got a large class load this semester, and I feel like I've just been pushing myself a little too much, especially with exams just around the corner."

"Be that as it may, I would request that you return to the mansion for the remainder of the day, if only to rest." At this request, Jean's green eyes widened in disbelief, as though the thought of this request was no different than the professor suggesting the roads were all paved with provolone cheese.

"I couldn't do that, I have so much schoolwork-"

"Jean, this is not optional. I do not wish to dredge up a painful memory; however, I believe you recall when your powers spiked out of control?" Jean nodded grimly, remembering that near-fatal day more than she wished to, the day she nearly tore down the entire mansion with nothing more than her own thoughts. The Professor opened his mouth to continue speaking; however he was interrupted by Scott before he was able to utter a single syllable.

"Professor, you can't think something like that would happen again. Jean's older now; she has more control than when she was in high school." The professor opened his mouth again to speak, but paused before he spoke, leaving his mouth hanging agape. Then, after several seconds, he spoke.

"Of course not Scott. I'm simply worried about her well-being. On the off-chance that this is not merely an isolated incident, I would prefer to capture it while it is still in its infancy." As Xavier finished his sentence, Henry came plodding into the room, his eyes locking straight on Jean. The padded bottoms of his feet made soft noise on the linoleum whenever he made a step.

"Ms. Grey, how are you feeling this afternoon? Apart from the issue of lying in a hospital bed, of course." Jean chuckled at Hank's quip.

"I'm fine, really. I realize that this whole thing was a little frightening, but I feel fine now. I'm really not sure what happened." Jean answered, smiling but growing weary of being coddled.

"Be that as it may, you do understand our concern?" Xavier asked. Jean's head fell and here eyes refused to meet those of her former teacher, but she granted him a weak nod of her head. She hung her head not in shame, but in defeat, realizing now that there was no way she was going to avoid missing several days of classes. She leaned back onto the pillow.

"Now that the matter is settled, I believe all that is left is for the doctors to discharge you. Hank, did you happen to see where he went?" Hank turned to Charles with a sheepish grin across his face, the skin beneath his thick blue fur tinting a slight pink.

"I believe I may have inadvertently frightened off our dear doctor. He attempted to bar my entry past the lobby, which led to a brief discussion on the rights of mutants." Charles grimaced at Henry's statement.

"You didn't harm him, did you?"

"Heavens no. It would be against my personal code of honor to begin a fight purely based on the ill tongue of one lone person. I am a firm supporter of the first amendment of the constitution, and I in fact encourage the free expression of ideas in any public forum. He, however, remains ignorant of my docile nature." The grimace did not leave Charles' face, and as Scott and Jean began to talk amongst themselves, Charles motioned Henry out into the hallway to talk, leaving the young lovebirds with a moment's solitude.

"Henry, I realize that times are difficult for mutants, and I realize that your obvious physical mutation makes this even more difficult. However, I also realize that you are aware of my abhorrence of even threats of physical violence, except as an absolute last resort."

"I realize that Charles. However, you are not the being referred to as a "pet."

"You are right, Hank. All I ask is that you try to control your temper." Henry rolled his eyes, but responded in the affirmative before glancing back into the hospital room, where Scott was laughing at something Jean had said. Henry glanced back at his friend and former mentor.

"When are you going to tell him?" Charles held his forehead in his hand.

"Hank, how can I tell him? I've just got to do a more thorough job this time around. Hopefully, this time it will be permanent."

"I sincerely hope you are correct, Charles." Hank said, noticing Scott moving toward the door out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Jean's really anxious to get out of here, so I'm going to go find a doctor. Everything alright?" Scott asked, slightly worried about Henry and Charles' unexpected departure.

"We're fine, Scott. Just business with the institute," He checked his watch, pulling back the sleeve of his specially tailored suit. "You're right; we should leave soon if we want to make it back in time for the arrival of our new recruits." At this mention, Scott slapped his forehead with the open palm of his hand.

"That is today, isn't it," Said Scott with little enthusiasm in his voice. "Have you told the others yet?"

"I informed them earlier this morning. Most of them share your apprehensiveness to this upcoming alliance." Charles stated with a bemused smirk.

"It's not apprehension it's…I mean, Tabitha lived with us before, and you've told me about what Magneto had over Colossus, but Gambit and Wanda aren't exactly our biggest fans."

"Scott, there is nothing to worry about. I have done several mind probes of Mr. Lebeau, and I'm confident that he has no malevolent intentions, for Rogue or anyone else. As for Wanda, I'm sufficiently convinced that her anger towards us has subsided ever since she found her father was alive."

"I know, Professor, you've told me all of this, it's just…I have a bad feeling about all of this."

"I wouldn't worry about it. We have faced many obstacles before, and still we have prevailed."

"Alright, I guess it's nothing to worry about," Said Scott in a tone that revealed he was anything but convinced. "Look, I'm going to go get the doctor, I'll be right back." As Scott dashed off down the hall, searching for a doctor willing to put his prejudices aside for five minutes, Henry turned back to face Charles.

"He is going to discover the truth someday, Charles." Xavier's eyes darkened along with his voice, his eyebrows shifting downward and his lips twisting into a studious frown.

"No he will not. I abhor keeping this from him, but there's simply no other option."

* * *

The spring wind whipped about Ryland Street in a gentle cyclone, sending bits of discarded paper twirling about several inches above the ground. The tiny bits of white and brown danced about the unkempt grounds of a rundown two story at the end of a near-abandoned street in suburban Bayville. The grass grew at uneven lengths, mostly due to numerous attempts by the residents to mow the grass, then giving up several minutes later. This pattern would repeat every two or three hours over a weekend before being forgotten entirely until a later date. The house itself was in a similar state of disrepair, almost to the point of becoming an eyesore. Paint was chipping everywhere, revealing at least four separate colors the house's exterior had possessed in the years since being constructed. All the windows were intact, however they were caked with a thin film of dirt and dried paint, again in a multitude of colors. The flattened piece of land that served as a driveway was devoid of a car, however tire marks and spots of oil decorated the cracked and barren dirt, dirt so mistreated nothing grew from it anymore. All this was observed by a pair of bright crystal eyes, flashing beneath deep black hair tipped scarlet. The young observer sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins. A lone duffel bag was her only companion, the faded black object stuffed with all the belongings she saw fit to keep, which were decidedly scarce.

"Are you just gonna wait outside all day?" Frederick Dukes, a fellow resident of the decrepit house. A mutant, he possessed the unique power to create himself immovable, a gift aided by his immense size of nearly two tons.

"It's not that bad of a day out. I kind of like it." Wanda stated, still staring out into the street.

"Well, you can come in if you feel like it." Blob never had been adept at conversation.

"Thanks, Freddie, but I'm just going to wait out here if it's all the same to you." Freddie had never heard this phrase before, so the meaning behind it eluded him. As such, he continued, meanwhile trying to figure out how it would be different.

"You know, I don't see why you wanna move in with a bunch of boring jerks like the X squad. All they're gonna do is have you savin the world for people who'll just try and kill you anyway."

"I'm not joining them, I just want a roof over my head that doesn't leak, and food that you haven't laid claim to yet." She finally made eye contact with Freddie at the last part of her statement, making sure he caught her meaning behind it.

"I told you Wanda, I have a slow metabolism. I need to eat more than most." He responded, rubbing his rotund abdomen. Wanda's gut response was to roll her eyes.

"Yea, you've told me a few times. Look, I'm not joining up with stick-up-his-ass Summers or anything. All I'm doing is getting free food on Xavier's wallet," Wanda stated before, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a black conversion van, its side painted with a large Xavier symbol, a black X on a red field surrounded by a yellow circle. It was a risky endeavor considering the current unfavorable opinion of mutants; however the worst that had currently happened to the van was an incident in which it was egged by a crowd of bored seventh graders. Wanda grasped the cloth handles of her duffel bag with on hand. "I think that's the X-squad coming up now. Um, I'll see you later, I guess."

"Look, Wanda, remember that you've always got a place here. Don't let that Xavier guy play with your mind or anything." Had either Freddie or Wanda known the complete picture about their lives, Freddie's statement would have seemed downright sinister. As it was, it carried an astounding level of irony. Neither one of them was currently aware of it, but Wanda was not always the devoted daughter she was currently. Time was when Wanda held no greater dream, no greater desire, than to end her father's life with her own hands. She devoted sleepless nights and grueling days to this goal, at one point nearly succeeding. Her father, however, grew weary of her constant attempts and hired a telepathic mutant, one with less moral obligations than Xavier, to warp his own daughter's memories, from the tortured life she had actually led to false memories that cast him a decidedly more favorable light.

"I won't, Freddie," Wanda said, wrapping her long burgundy trench coat around herself despite the pleasant spring air. "And, um, thanks. Freddie." Freddie's eyes darted nervously, not used to the idea of being thanked for something.

"Well, don't mention it." He said quickly before ducking back inside the house. The van was now parked at the curb in front of the house, a statuesque woman with mocha skin and shimmering white hair standing outside the driver's side door. Wanda approached her apprehensively, having only heard about the woman through word of mouth.

"Hello child. Are you ready to leave?" Ororo Monroe spoke in a calm, dulcet tone. When one could control the entire weather with only their thoughts, it was important that one keep their emotions in check.

"Yea, I guess." Wanda's voice was a low grumble, low levels of disaffected anger with no suitable target, instead bouncing about her mind and her words. Ororo pulled open the side door of the van, motioning for Wanda to deposit her bag within, which she did, meeting the eyes of a blonde girl of similar age to Wanda, a pair of grey headphones covering her ears as she moved her arms animatedly to whatever music was pumping from the portable CD player.

"Wanda, this is Tabitha Smith, she will be joining the institute along with you." Tabitha pulled the plastic device from her head.

"Hey, love the outfit. Let me guess, red's your favorite color? No worries, I like someone that can pull off the monochromatic look. Call me Tabby. What's your name, girl?" Her smoky voice managed to express both a laid-back attitude and a limitless well of energy. She grinned as she spoke, her lip-gloss painted lips pulling back every so often to reveal a perfect set of pearly-white teeth.

"Wanda. Wanda Maximoff." She spoke with even more unease than when she had first walked over to the van. She climbed into the backseat of the large van, buckling herself in and wishing she had brought a book to read as Tabby began talking with the rapidity of a machine gun, relating stories and anecdotes about her short stay at the institute.

* * *

"They're really joining the school?" A deaf person could have picked up on the disbelief in Jean's voice. Checking her out from the hospital had been noticeably simple; the doctors diagnosing Jean with simple exhaustion before doing everything except tossing Jean out a window. It was overtly clear to all four of the mutants present that the staff of the hospital, at least the ones they came into direct contact with, wanted as little to do with the mutants as possible. The treatment hurt, but the four did their best to exit the hospital with as much dignity as possible. Scott had requested to drive Jean home in his own vehicle, a request neither Hank nor Charles could possibly deny. Now, following the van back up ninety-five toward Bayville, Scott was informing Jean on the issue currently on the lips of everyone residing within the Xavier school.

"The professor only told me about it last week. Apparently, he's been meeting with Gambit, Colossus and Boom-Boom for four months now, scanning their minds to make sure this isn't some scheme to get inside the school."

"Well, I understand Gambit and Colossus, but Tabitha? What sort of threat could she pose?"

"I know, Tabitha never really completely _left_ the mansion," Scott joked, referring to Tabitha's deep friendship with Amara Aquilla, another resident of the institute. "But as the Professor explained it, he figures Tabitha has been away from the institute long enough to warrant a background check." Suddenly, the car in front of them turned onto an off ramp, causing Scott to hit the brakes hard. The abrupt leg movement caused his pants to tighten, the ring box in his pocket suddenly pressing into the muscle of his thigh. His mind immediately clouded with depressive thoughts concerning his aborted attempt at a proposal. Scott almost wanted to pull his convertible into the nearest rest stop and propose to her right then and there, but something held him back. _I want to do this right. I want to show her how special she is, and I don't think a highway toilet is really-_

"You are upset." No emotion lay in Jean's statement, which is exactly what it was. Not an observation, but a simple statement of fact. After she said it, however, a look of pure confusion swept across her features. Scott made sideways glances at his girlfriend, unsure about her statement.

"Uh…yea, a little bit," Said Scott, his voice shaky with what Jean had just said. "I'm, uh, just thinking about a lot right now." Scott said it quickly, but it was hardly a lie. Half of his thoughts were wrapped around the botched proposal, and the other, undoubtedly more dominant half of his thoughts were contemplating Jean's peculiar behavior all day. He counted the instances, first with the mirage that had appeared in her eye in the parking lot, then her "exhaustion", and finally he came to her extraordinary display of empathy. It wasn't so much the statement that bothered him as it was the tone of her voice. It…wasn't her, to put it simply. Jean had always had a gentle nature to her voice, a nature that simply wasn't there.

"Scott, are you ok?" With those four small words, the gentleness returned. Scott was barely able to keep his eyes on the road at this point. Jean's behavior was all over the map.

"I'm not who I'm worried about, Jean. Are you sure you feel alright?"

"Of course I'm fine. I've told you, I've just been a little stressed recently. How many times are you going to ask how I'm feeling?" Jean questioned, growing agitated at the frequency of this repeated question.

"Look, Jean, you'd tell me if you weren't doing well, right? You'd let me know if something was bothering you?"

"Of course, Scott. Why wouldn't I?" Jean's voice was full of honesty, and Scott could hardly resist smiling back at Jean.

"I'm just still a little worried about what happened earlier, that's all."

"Scott, I'm happy you care so much, but I really am ok. You worry too much sometimes."

"I just prefer to be cautious, Jean." Scott was unconvinced that his girlfriend was as well as she claimed, but he put it out of mind for the present. He concentrated instead on the upcoming induction of former enemies to the institute, hoping that, if his suspicions were correct, Jean would come to him with whatever was troubling her.

* * *

"Mon ami, yi gonna eat yo fries?" A crowded fast food restaurant somewhere in the downtown district of Bayville, filled with nine-to-fivers on lunch hour. Buried in a booth furthest from the counter, three bodies sat unconcerned with the rat race swarming about them.

"Da, Remy. My answer iz ze same az ze four times you haf asked me for my fries." Piotr Rasputin answered his friend, Remy Lebeau, as a small blonde girl, no older than, four, fidgeted in her seat, more concerned with the small plastic toy that had come with her meal than the conversation.

"De man gave me a medium when I ordared a large. All 'm askin fo is a few."

"Remy, I ordered an extra large for a reason. I am positive if you simply approach ze counter and explain your problem, zhey vill replace your fries."

"I already ate half de box. Dey ain't gonna replace anyt'ing."

"Remy, vhy are ve arguing about fries?" Piotr questioned, suddenly very confused about his friend's behavior. He had lived with Remy for almost two years, much of which was training under the despotic eye of Magneto, and never once had they argued during a meal. His friend had always been loud, constantly telling jokes and stories, a far cry from his own family, who viewed dinner as a quiet, solemn affair. At Piotr's question, Remy's eyes darted from right left in rapid motion behind his sunglasses, a motion noticed only by Piotr. Remy was visibly nervous.

"Dis ain't a good idea." He said quietly, taking a small bite out of his hamburger.

"You are referencing our joining ze X-men." Piotr said, lowering his voice as well. The opinion of mutants, while nowhere near as low as it had been directly after the Apocalypse debacle, was still nowhere near what any person would call favorable. Indeed, several groups had cropped up in the past two years since the fall of Apocalypse, most notably a group calling themselves the Friends of Humanity. Overall, members of these groups were responsible for over seven hundred attacks on mutants and mutant sympathizers, ten percent of which had resulted in fatalities. One could no longer refer to it as paranoia, now it was simply survival.

"Course 'm referencin de X-men," Remy snapped, in a tone harsher than what he had intended. "Sorry Petey, m' jus on edge bout all dis. You t'ink dese people just gonna accept us?"

"Zere professor seems confident zhat zhey vill in time. He seems trustworthy enough."

"Don' know bout all dat. De professor seems alraght 'nough, but yi givin any t'ought ti what Wolverine gonna do once we show up? O Summers? Don' t'ink dey gonna be as acceptin of us as de professor seems."

"I am not concerned vith zhem. I believe zhat zhey vill accept us vithen time."

Maybe yi, mon ami, but yi didn't kidnap one o dere own." Piotr noted the slight twinge of regret in Remy's voice, a striking change from the boisterous personality he usually carried around.

"You made zhat choice yourself, Remy."

Mi father was kidnapped! What did yi 'xpect mi ti do?," Remy shouted, drawing the curious eye of several nearby restaurant patrons. He lowered his voice before continuing. "I hate dat S.O.B. wit all mi heart, but he still de man dat raised me. Ain't nothing gonna change dat." Remy's eyes dropped low, focusing on his food and refusing to meet the eyes of his friend. Suddenly, there was a pulling on his black t-shirt, the small thin arm of Piotr's baby sister Illyana seated next to him in a booster seat.

"Mr. Remy?" She stared up at him with large blue eyes, her wispy blonde hair framing her face. Even the most hardened misanthrope would have a difficult time not finding this child endearing.

"Wat di yi need, enfant peu?"

"делает та середина S.OB.?" Remy's eyes grew so wide one could almost see their unique nature, even with the black aviators he was wearing. Remy had not picked up much Russian during his time with Piotr, only small phrases and words, not even enough to get by a day in Moscow. However, he could tell by her tone and the naturally curious nature of children that she wanted to know what S.O.B. stood for, a question he had no intentions of answering. Still, he hemmed and hawed for several seconds before Piotr interrupted, rescuing Remy from this uncomfortable situation.

"Illyana, vhat did I tell you about repeating what Mr. Remy says?" Illyana took on an exaggerated look of deep thought. The young girl spoke Russian easier then she spoke English, however, she had been though enough by her brother so that she could get by.

"You told me…not to repeat anything he says?"

"Da. Remember, Mr. Remy says many bad zhings," Remy arched an eyebrow at this comment, but did not say anything. "You should pay him any heed."

"Ok Peta." Illyana gurgled happily before turning back to her toy, the question resolved in her mind. Piotr smiled at her joy before turning his attention to his friend.

"Remy, vhat did I tell you about your language and my sister?" Remy smiled sheepishly at his friend.

"Je suis desole, Piotr. Yi know how talking bout mi father gets me."

"I am aware of your hostility towards him. However, I vould ask zhat you vatch your language around my sister." Remy popped the last of his burger into his mouth, washing it down with a large gulp of soda before carelessly grabbing his brown leather trench coat off the back of his chair and shrugging the battered article of clothing onto his shoulders. He plucked a single cigarette from an open pack of Marlboros within a pocket of the coat before turning back to face his friend.

"Noted, mon ami. Yi bout ready ti hit de road?"

* * *

Scott pulled into the garage of the mansion, turning through the rotary section of the winding driveway with the precision only afforded by the fanciest of sports cars. He, much like earlier in the day, helped Jean out of her seat and shut her door, leading her into the mansion's kitchen with her fingers entwined in his.

"I understand the professor's hurry to get back here and all, but I'm still not sure why we couldn't stop by my dorm to grab my books. Seriously, the trip would have taken all of five minutes."

"Sorry, this is just a really weird day for everyone. Look, Jean, I'll take you down there tomorrow, ok? Besides, I'm pretty sure I still owe you a lunch." replied Scott with a smile, a smile which Jean returned.

"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Suddenly, Jean grimaced and, letting go of Scott's hand, clutched her forehead, a move that sent Scott into a panicked state.

"Jean, are you ok?" What happened next would perplex Scott until his dying day. Jean held her forehead in pain for an eternal second, then, as though this was purely instinct, Jean stood tall, her normally green eyes almost red with intensity. However, before he could register this new behavior, everything was gone. Jean was there, the same Jean Scott had fell in love with from the moment he laid eyes on her.

"I am fine, Scott. I think I should lie down, however." Scott was hardly about to disagree with her at this point. _She just needs a good night's rest, that's all Scott. You've been watching too much X-Files, _he thought, explaining away his own nagging paranoia. With their hands clasped together once more, they pushed open the swinging door leading out into the luxurious foyer, a move that startled Rogue, sending her jumping back several inches.

"Gah! Scott, dohn't scare meh lahke thaht," the Southern Goth gasped before noticing Jean right next to him. "Jean? When'd ya get back hehre?"

"I just walked in, Rogue. I'm taking a few days off of school to get my head straight."

"Oh…um, welcome bahck, Ah guess," Rogue mumbled. It was no secret to the majority of the institute that Rogue had harbored an intense crush on Scott when she first moved into the institute, a crush that had led to highly antagonistic between her and Jean. When Jean and Scott finally did begin to date as an official couple, it was suspected by most of the residents that she had somewhat begrudgingly given up on this crush. However, the caustic feeling between her and Jean and never fully dissipated.

"Uh, Rogue, why were you just hanging out by the kitchen door?" Scott questioned. Scott was possibly the only person who remained unaware of Rogue's crush on him. Far from it, he saw Rogue as a fierce and determined somewhat introverted, teammate and friend.

"Ah…Ah dohn't know," Rogue said after several seconds of silence, sounding just as perplexed by her answer as any outside observer. "Ah remembah comin down tha stairs, and Ah remembah Ah was fumin about that Swamp rat joinin this place…than, Ah cahn't remembah anything til just now." Scott arched an eyebrow; a move he was noticing was happening a lot.

"I think there's a full moon or something. This entire day has been weird since the sun came up. Hey, I'm going to get Jean settled, I'll talk to you later Rogue, I hope you feel ok."

"Me too, Rogue. I hope things are going well for you here." Jean said with a warm smile and voice. Rogue returned her smile with depressed eyes rimmed in purple.

Uh, yea, Ah'll talk to ya'll later." As Scott and Jean walked up the grand staircase that filled the middle of the entrance foyer, Rogue couldn't help but feel a deep twinge of jealousy, jealousy that almost instantly melded with rage from the bowels of her heart.

_First Ah fahnd out thaht stupid swamp rat is comin hehre, and now little miss perfect shows bahck up. How much worse cahn mah day get?_ Just as Rogue finished her thought, the massive main doors of the mansion swung open, producing Ororo Monroe, with Wanda and Tabitha in tow. Tabitha strutted in with the cat-like gait of a ego driven supermodel, a large pink suitcase wheeling behind her.

"Hey, it's the Rogue! How ya doin? Still got the Goth look, huh? That's cool, you pull it off, you and Wanda both. Oh my god, you should so check out this new store they got down at the mall, you'd love it! Anyway, how ya been?" Rogue stared blankly at the smiling face of Tabitha Smith, the girl's rapid fire word delivery taking a moment to register in her brain.

"Ah'm doin fahne, Tabitha. Ah think ya should go fahnd Amara, though, she's been anxious tah see yah back hehre." Rogue was only half lying. While it was true that Amara was indeed looking forward to having her best friend back within the institute's walls, Rogue was desperately hoping the mention of Amara would be enough to send Tabitha off somewhere else, leaving Rogue with the solitude she so craved.

"Oooo, where is that girl? I haven't seen her in a while. We've got catching up to do!" Rogue's wishes were fulfilled as Tabitha strutted off, suitcase in hand, in search of her companion. Ororo gave Rogue a small smile once Tabitha was in another room.

"She will calm down once she and Amara have had a chance to talk. One of their meetings is often all it takes." From behind Ororo came Wanda, a near-psychotic scowl painted across the lower half of her face. She dropped her duffel bag onto the red and gold carpeting that ran wall to wall across the entire room and up the middle of the stairs.

"I want to kill that girl. I want to kill her in horrific ways." Ororo shifted an admonishing glare Wanda's way.

"Wanda, I realize that you and Tabitha are somewhat different, and I also realize that Tabitha is in a somewhat hyperactive mood today. However, that is no excuse for an outburst of that nature." Wanda's scowl disappeared to an extent, now one of mere dissatisfaction rather than manic nature. She rolled her eyes before answering Ms. Monroe.

"Right. Um, is there any way I can get something to drink? I'm really thirsty." Wanda asked in a voice that was half pleading, half growling. It was the voice of someone in need but too proud to admit it.

"Of course, child," said Ororo, her voice still as calm as ever. "Rogue, would you mind showing Wanda the kitchen?" Rogue was stunned at Ororo's request. _Guess tha integration starts now,_ she thought with surprise, suddenly faced with an enemy as a person.

Sure thang. It's raight though hehre." Ororo gracefully walked up the main staircase towards her greenhouse as Rogue pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen, holding it open for Wanda.

* * *

The students were all in full uniform in one of the larger ground-floor rooms, standing at attention, although fidgeting slightly. Everyone, with the exception of Jean, was present, ready to greet the new students. Tabitha, being a familiar face even to the youngest of recruits, was hardly a novelty and was largely greeted as an old friend. Wanda, on the other hand, was gifted at most a wave and brief eye contact. The only people who had said more than two words to the mysterious girl were Ororo and Rogue. Even Rogue, who appeared to share a plethora of similar interests with the girl, had found herself tongue-tied around Wanda. Remy and Piotr had shown up at precisely six fifty-five, a fact Piotr blamed on Remy. Piotr had immediately moved, along with Illyana, to the furthest chair from anyone else, his apprehensiveness plain to anyone. Tabitha was sitting as close to Amara as possible, attempting to break her concentration by making goofy faces. Amara was holding up thus far, but she was close to cracking, the corners of her lips twitching as Tabitha stuck her tongue out again. Remy had sprawled out on a couch in full view of the elders of the institute, his relaxed position suggesting he had lived within this mansion for years. Xavier had been speaking on the current state of relations between mutants and humans, and although he had speaking for near twenty minutes, his entire speech could be summed up in three words: relations were poor.

"We mutants are facing dark times. As more of us reveal themselves to the world, the violence and prejudice increases. However, as more mutants reveal themselves, more of the public, mutants and non, are looking to us for an example, an example I am proud to say has been nothing but exemplary. Now, with our new recruits, I hope to continue that shining example. So, to former students and former enemies, I welcome you our fold. Welcome to the Xavier Institute."

* * *

A/N: I don't own any of these characters; they are the property of Marvel and their creators. Not an action packed chapter this time; just exposition. Be patient, though, there is action coming. I would like to thank everyone who reviewed; the reviews are what keep me writing. I will update as soon as possible. 


	3. Chapter 3

"This is your room. Usually, we inspect your rooms from time to time, but since both of you are over twenty-one; you won't have much to worry about. The only thing not allowed will be members of the opposite sex after hours. Tomorrow, we need to have all of you checked out by Dr. McCoy in our med lab, but for tonight, though, just get settled into your rooms. Um, have you eaten already?" After the brief introduction on the ground floor, the students were dismissed, most making a hasty retreat to their respective rooms. Only the senior X-men had stuck around, in part to set an example for the others, but mostly because it was required. Scott had taken Remy and Piotr on a small tour of the facility, a tour which had ended with their new dormitory, all the while Illyana clutching her brother's hand in a vice grip.

"Da. Ve ate at a downtown fast food restaurant an hour and a half ago." Piotr's voice boomed throughout the hallway, his might extending into his voice. As Scott and Piotr stood stock still, Remy lazily leaned against a pale pink wall, an unlit cigarette spinning between his index and ring fingers.

"So when ain't dese 'members o de opposite sex' allowed in our rooms?" Remy shot a wolfish grin towards Scott, who merely returned a hardened glare through his ruby-quartz eyeglasses.

"For you, they're not allowed, period." Scott replied tersely, more so than he had intended.

"Fo me? Dat 'possed ti mean sumethin?" His tone was full of the same swagger he drenched with every sentence, but one look into his black and red eyes, his one obvious physical mutation, and anyone could see there was a mixture of confusion and slight hurt within those eyes.

"Look, we'll be able to go over the rules better tomorrow, Ga-Remy," Scott corrected himself quickly. "For tonight, just get yourself settled in. Dinner is served at six-thirty A.M., so you might want to get some sleep after you unpack." Scott offered the two a weak smile. "Look, um, I'm glad you guys decided to join us. I'm sure you're going be happy here." It was his olive branch.

"Mr. Summers, vhat about my sister. Vhere is she going to sleep?" Scott rubbed the back of his neck nervously, not having considered that issue. He let out a loud exhale.

"Um, we've bought a bed for her, but I don't think that it's going to be delivered until to tomorrow," Scott answered, remembering a conversation with the Professor he had had earlier in the week. "I think we've got a sleeping bag for her, just for tonight. Will that work, Piotr?" Scott asked, making extra care to call Piotr by his actual name. Scott was unsure about these two, Remy more so than Piotr, however Scott saw no reason to cause turmoil. He would be vigilant, no doubts about that, however, Scott had no desires to cause any friction between the new recruits and himself.

"Zhat vill be sufficinet. Zhank you very much, Mr. Summers."

"Great, I'll bring it up for you in a minute."

"Yi Do dat, Summers. Petey, 'm gonna grab de bags out de car." Remy tossed his trench coat onto one of the beds before heading down the hallway, "accidentally" hitting Scott in the shoulder with his own before turning the corner. Scott shot an annoyed look over his shoulder before turning back to Piotr.

"Is he usually like that?" Piotr paused in the doorway, his immense size allowing little to be seen of the room within, as Illyana ran into the room, fascinated by the sheer size of it all.

"Nyet. Remy does not usually behave like zhis. He has been highly nervous about our move into zhis mansion."

"Well, hopefully he'll adapt soon. Look, I'll bring up the sleeping bag in a minute. Do you need anything else?"

"Nyet." Piotr was still in the doorway, his spine straight and his arms slack at his sides.

"Alright, well, I'll be right down the hall if you change your mind." Scott smiled. Piotr seemed to be easier to get along with than Remy. _I hope Kitty had an easier time with the girls._

* * *

"Ok, like, Tabitha, you're going to be bunking with Amara. We knew you guys are really good friends, and she didn't have a roommate, so we, like, decided to move you guys in to together." Kitty stated eagerly as they approached the doorway, Amara already anticipating their arrival. The petite South American stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her arms folded across her chest. She smiled at Tabitha and Kitty, however, when her eyes met with Wanda's, Amara regarded her with a strange curiosity mixed with caution, as though she wasn't sure either why she was there or if she was a threat. To Amara's credit, however, her hesitation may have had something to do with the scowl permanently etched into Wanda's mouth. Tabitha, however, was oblivious about all of this, as she quickly dragged Amara into their room, mentioning something about "more girl talk." The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Kitty and Wanda alone in the hallway.

"Wanda, like, your bedroom is right down here." The nineteen year old mutant followed her guide down the cavernous hallway towards a door roughly twenty feet from Amara and Tabitha's room, on the opposite wall. Kitty pushed the unlocked door into the room, revealing an empty room with a high ceiling and fine oriental carpeting. Kitty smiled warmly towards Wanda, and Wanda returned a smile back, albeit nervously.

"Like, you don't have a roommate yet, so you get your choice of closets and beds and stuff. You're, like, pretty lucky." Kitty said, a nervous laugh filling the tail end of her sentence.

"Um, thanks." Wanda grumbled back. It wasn't that she disliked Kitty, far from it. Wanda had joined the fight against Apocalypse because of the brunette mutant, her optimism a curious emotion Wanda wished to explore further. However, it was a double-edged sword, as Wanda would also tell anyone willing to listen to her for five minutes that optimism was a fool's road. That was her fascination with Kitty; the idea of all this optimism, this cheer, this...happiness. It was what Wanda feared, and it was what she craved.

"Ok, I, like, told you about the medical appointment you have tomorrow, right??"

"What? I have to go to that? I told the Professor that I didn't want to be an X-man!"

"Well, he did say it was specifically for the new recruits..."

"I figured he meant everyone else." Wanda answered without the slightest hint of irony.

"No, he wants you there. He, like, knows you don't want to join us, like, full-time, but he still wants you checked out by Dr. McCoy." Kitty stated, repeating what Xavier had told her several hours earlier. Wanda's full response was an unintelligible groan, followed by several minutes of silence as Wanda fumed and Kitty shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

Ok, Kitty, it's not your fault," Wanda finally said, feeling slightly sorry about yelling at the small girl. "Look, I don't have to wear one of those stupid blue and yellow things, do I?"

"I don't think so, no." Kitty was staring at the floor, refusing eye contact. _Damn it, I'm here for five minutes and I manage to offend one of the two people here who's ever been nice to me._

"Alright, I guess that's something. Look, I, um, didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just a little stressed about all of this." Wanda said, running a hand through her coal black hair and biting her lower lip.

"Hey, we all are, don't, like, worry about it. But anyway, like, breakfast will be right after the session, and then you've pretty much got full run around here." By this point, the wide smile that Kitty usually wore had returned, alleviating much of the guilt Wanda had felt inside.

"Alright, I guess I'll get unpacked and get some sleep. Um, thanks for showing me around, Kitty."

"Hey, like, no problem, Wanda. See you tomorrow morning," Kitty turned to leave the room, but just as she was about to cross the threshold, she had a final thought. "Hey, Wanda?"

"What?"

"Thanks for joining. I really hope you like it here." Before Wanda could offer any sort of response, Kitty had left the doorway, and Wanda didn't feel the motivation to chase after the girl.

"Um, thanks." Wanda responded to the empty room before turning to her large black duffel bag and unzipping it, revealing the personal contents within. She pulled out several articles of clothing, neatly folded, and placed them next to the deflating bag. She balanced the clothing on her forearms and brought them over to the closet, hanging the shirts on the hangers provided. Before pushing her pants into the drawers below the main closet, she pulled a small cherry wood frame hidden in the folds of a pair of jeans. The frame contained an old photograph, picturing a man of roughly forty clutching two small children, one a grinning boy with white hair and blue eyes, the other a girl with a more morose expression and black hair, but the same blue eyes. Wanda set the frame down gently on the bedside table, never taking her eyes off it for a second.

"You said things would be different after Apocalypse, father. So why did you choose Pietro and not me? Did-did I do something to upset you?" Wanda sniffed, holding tears back until her eyes burned, determined not to cry. Quickly scanning her eyes about the room to make sure no one was there, Wanda dumped the half-empty bag next to the bed, vowing to unpack the remainder the next day. She clicked off the lamp and, after throwing on a pair of worn pajamas, crawled under sheets, and as her eyelids grew heavy with a long day of events, she let one last sentence escape her lips. "I just wanted to make you proud, father..."

* * *

"I'm back, Jean. Just like I told you I'd be."

"Why Scott, I was about to send out a search party," Jean grinned. She lay in Scott's bed, clad only in a nightgown, a book open in her lap. A table lamp next to her was lit."Did you get Remy and Piotr settled in for the night?" Scott stripped off his t-shirt, choosing to sleep only in the worn pair of pajama bottoms he had donned before brushing his teeth.

"Yea. I gave Piotr a sleeping bag for Illyana, but that's only a temporary fix. Hopefully, the bed will arrive tomorrow. I don't think it's a good idea to have a four-year-old sleeping on the floor for too long."

"You worry too much, Scott," Jean said with a grin, closing her book and setting it gently on the nightstand. "You said the professor ordered the bed last week, with expedited shipping. It'll come soon enough." Her answer perplexed Scott, not with the words but the relaxed nature in which they came forth. Jean's behavior had been up and down all day, and Scott hoped that a few days away from her college would do her some good.

"Yea. Piotr really cares about his sister a lot."

"I noticed. She was how Magneto kept Piotr working for him, right?"

"As far as I know." Scott stated with confidence as he crawled into bed next to Jean, throwing the sheets on top of him. Jean went into a state of deep thought for several minutes, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Scott.

"Is Piotr the only one who was blackmailed into working for Magneto?"

"I'm not sure. The professor hasn't been able to find much information on Pyro, and Remy hasn't been much easier, " Jean made a general noise of comprehension, prompting Scott to inquire further. "Why?"

"No reason, I was just curious. Am I keeping you up?"

"Not at all, but remember breakfast times around here."

"Ah, yes. Seven A.M. sharp, according to Logan, and not a second late." Jean grinned.

"Well, this won't come as a surprise, but he hasn't exactly relaxed that standard." Scott answered, putting his hands behind his head. Jean thought deeply for second, dancing two fingers across one of Scott's pectorals.

"You don't think he'd bend the rules, just once?" Jean said, flashing her boyfriend her best puppy dog eyes. "I was hoping we could get some breakfast a little later in the day?"

"You know, I think that could be arranged," Jean kissed Scott on the lips, a full, deep kiss. "So what time did you want to get up tomorrow?" Scott asked, keeping a solitary hand steady on the small of Jean's back.

"Well, I'm a little worn out from the whirlwind that was today, so would nine be ok?"

"That works, sweetie," Scott answered, reaching for the alarm clock and fiddling with the alarm controls. "There. I've set the alarm for eight. That should give us enough time to shower and get out of the mansion, right?"

"It should," Jean yawned, laying her head on her pillow. Her vibrant red hair fell around her, forming almost a halo. "I love you, Scott." Scott smiled down at her, feeling nothing but elation. He spoke a small sentence before switching off the lights.

"I love you too, Jean."

* * *

Any meal around the institute could be calmly described as a tumultuous affair, and breakfast was no exception. Much of the student body was still in the upper echelons of high school, and the idea of waking up early in the morning was in no way foreign to any of them. The students rotated between cooking, setting the table, and cleaning up afterwards, in a pattern that had been designed to teach responsibility, although many of the students saw it more as punishment. On this particular morning, however, the students were even more rambunctious than usual, all because of the new recruits. From all over the kitchen and dining hall, voices and questions could be overheard.

"Are they here yet?"

"I hope I don't have to sit next to that Russian one. He could kill me with one blow!"

"Is that one with the long hair French?"

"How long you think before Wanda tries to kill us?"

"Guys, shut up, I can her them coming!" An unidentifiable voice shouted in a stage whisper. The voice was correct, as Remy, Wanda, Piotr and Illyana made their way down the main staircase. Students scrambled to find seats next to their friends. Wanda was the first to enter, grabbing the first available chair closest to an exit. Piotr found two empty chairs up near the teachers, he and Illyana setting themselves down between Ororo Monroe and Kurt Wagner. Remy was the last to enter, lazily strutting into the dining hall as though there were all the time in the world. Rogue noticed him, she noticed the early morning grin and the mischievous flash in his eyes, and her veins filled with dread.

_It is too damned earlay in tha mornin ta deal with him, please don't make him sit neah meh,_ Rogue thought, focusing on the empty chair to her right. She couldn't tell for sure at the time, but Rogue would later swear that sweat was pouring down her forehead in rivulets. However, in the space of an instant, Remy instead grabbed a seat several feet down, near Sam Guthrie, slouching slightly in the oak chair. Rogue let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding before turning to Kitty.

"Ya know, Ah think this maght beh a good day fahr once."

"Huh?" Kitty asked, distracted.

"Uh, Nevamahnd." Rogue answered quickly, seeing Jamie Madrox emerge from the kitchen toting a pan filled with scrambled eggs.

* * *

Most students considered themselves lucky if they could keep down one plate of student-concocted food. Wanda had wolfed down four platefuls without even blinking. Most students enrolled in high school had already left in institute-provided cars, and those that were no longer in high school had departed in the direction of the showers. Piotr and Illyana had followed Doctor McCoy in the direction of the Medical Bay, Piotr volunteering the both of them to go first for medical physicals. The only people in any semblance of close proximity were Kitty, who had landed dishwashing duty, and Logan, who was engrossed in the Sports section of the local paper. Wanda gently lay her fork down on her plate, determined, now that she was full, to avoid the Doctor for as long as she possibly could. As far back as she could remember, doctors , hospitals, anything medical caused a cold shiver to run down her spine and her heart to seize with dread. Pushing her plate away from her, she quietly slid out of her chair and tiptoed toward the exit.

**_Wanda and Scott, please report to my office as soon as is possible._** Wanda glanced around, unsure of from where the voice had come. She recognized the refined British accent as that of Professor Xavier's, however he was nowhere to be seen in the cavernous dining hall. As she dwelled upon that fact, it also occurred to her that she hadn't seen Scott at breakfast, although she hadn't exactly been looking for him.

"Where are you?"

_**I am projecting my thoughts telepathically-**_

"You're in my head?!" Wanda shrieked, loud enough to interrupt Logan's trance-like stare at the tiny newsprint in front of him.

"What the hell are you screamin' about?"

"He said he wasn't going to go into my head without permission! How come I can hear him in my head?"

**_I am not in your head, Wanda, I am merely projecting my thoughts. I have no access to your thoughts or memories. _**Wanda clenched her fists, letting them take on an electric blue tinge.

"Stay out of my head." Wanda seethed through gritted teeth, her voiced low and menacing.

**_Logan, would you please direct Wanda toward my office?_** The telepathic question came across as frustrated, or as frustrated as possible for a disembodied voice.

"Sure thing, Chuck." Logan stated in a monotone, his eyes returned to the paper. His eyes roamed from left to right across the gray newsprint.

"What the hell is he going to do to me?" Logan remained quiet. "What the hell do you want with me?" Wanda questioned more insistently, letting her hands take on their natural tint as she crossed her arms across her chest.

"Cut it with the dramatics, kid. Chuck ain't gonna do anything to ya," Logan refolded the paper and tossed it to the tablecloth. "Now follow me. And don't interrupt me while I'm checking scores."

* * *

Upstairs, Scott had received the same telepathic message as Wanda. The first thing he did was check the alarm clock, which read seven-forty-five. _Figures_, thought Scott as he ran a hand through sleep-mussed hair. He turned to look at Jean, still curled up asleep in the fetal position. Scott smiled, turned away and sighed. _Alright Scott, time to go to work._ He jotted down a quick note for Jean on a piece of loose paper, leaving it on the bedside table before quickly throwing on a pair of khakis and a clean shirt. Scott quickly stuffed his feet into the nearest pair of shoes and drew a comb through his hair several times in quick succession. _I love everything the Professor's done for me, _Scott thought, staring at his red-tinted reflection in the mirror. _But sometimes the hours it takes to be an X-man suck._ He threw another glance towards Jean, still asleep, before shutting the door.

Professor Xavier's office was beautiful, and there was no other way to describe it. As one entered, their attention would immediately draw to the tall fireplace, constructed of Italian marble and crowned with prized artifacts and antiques collected from around the world, many priceless. Above the fireplace, a large painting hung; a Xavier family portrait that dated back four generations. Xavier's desk stood, proud and intimidating, another priceless antique that spanned his family's history. Its construct was of maple with gold trimmings, and various nicks and cuts in the wood adding to the opulence of the desk rather than detracting from it. On the walls to the right and left stood two floor-to-ceiling bookcases, packed from end to end with first editions and hardcovers.

"Scott, thank you for coming. Please, sit down," Welcomed Xavier from behind his family desk. The Professor motioned towards two leather and wood chairs positioned in front of the desk. One chair held the body of Wanda Maximoff, her arms crossed across her chest and her disgusted expression both suggesting this was, in fact, the exact last place she wished to be at that moment. Scott took the chair next to her, Xavier speaking as soon as Scott had taken his seat. "I have a mission for the two of you."

"Hey, how many times-"

"I am aware of your opposition towards joining our team full time, Wanda, and I intend to honour your desires. However, if you are to live here, you will be expected to perform the same chores around this mansion as every other resident. I believe we discussed this at length earlier," To Scott's amazement, the sneer scrawled across the lower half of Wanda's face seemed to grow, but Xavier's words had their intended effect, Wanda slowly leaning back into her chair and again crossing her arms across her chest with a frustrated groan. Satisfied, Xavier continued. "As I was saying, I have a mission for the two of you. Wanda, you informed me that Mystique has been away from the Brotherhood house for close to four months, is that correct?"

"Yea, since New Year's." Wanda mumbled, still giving off an aggressive body language. She was turned as far from Scott and the Professor as the arms of her chair would allow. Her arms were hugging her ribcage firmly, the fingers of her right hand repetitively drumming her left bicep, and her pale face was contorted into a mixture of boredom and anger.

"That concerns me greatly, especially because of her responsibility toward the boarders under that roof. Mystique opened her doors to them, and it needs to be seen that she honours that responsibility."

"Uh, Professor, not to be rude, but this isn't the first time she's pulled something like this. Mystique has gone off the radar, before, and she's always surfaced."

"Yes, and the last time she did so it ended with my home reduced to a smoldering hole in the ground. If Mystique is planning something, I would like to have some idea of what exactly it is before she has a chance to attempt such a feat for a second time."

"Professor, are you sure this is the best plan? Mystique has attacked without reason before; it doesn't really seem smart to give her a blatant reason to attack." Scott stammered at the end of his question, suddenly very aware of Wanda's presence no more than two feet to his right. His face suddenly felt flush, and his forehead dotted with tiny beads of perspiration. The chair became, in an instant, very confining.

"That is a risk I fear we must take. Locating her is paramount, however, any relevant information you find would be greatly appreciated," Wanda took this all in with a complete air of indifference, while Scott's reaction was more easily read, however by a small margin. The right corner of his lips had tugged downward slightly, and his brows had drawn themselves closer together. It was a slight change, one he was no doubt attempting to conceal. Wanda failed to notice, most likely due to the fact she was not actually facing Scott, but instead staring at the burgundy and mocha wall. The professor did notice, although whether that was due to his powers of observation or his powers of telepathy was ambiguous. "Scott, there is nothing underhanded about this task. I merely want to know where Mystique has been for the past four months. If she has anything planned against us, however, I would prefer not to be blindsided." His voice was firm, but not so much as to sound desperate or demanding. Scott remained silent for several minutes, enough for even Wanda to sense a divide between the two, one that had not been there when Scott had first entered the office.

"Alright." A single word of confirmation before Scott simply pushed his body out of the chair by the arms and briskly exited the office, shutting the door behind him. Wanda let her eyes dart between the door and Professor Xavier several times before speaking. She could see that Charles was struggling to maintain a calm demeanor; however, she saw reason to aid him in that task, seeing that he had given her something else to do.

"So, is that the end of the meeting?"

"Yes, you are dismissed Wanda." She wasted no time exiting the office, her right hand playing with the hem of her T-shirt. Xavier waited until the doorknob clicked into place before burying his head in his hands. He turned his wheelchair around to face the high floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the west end of the estate. In a hushed voice, he spoke only to himself.

"With every step I make, I slowly turn into what I swore I never let myself become. How did I let this happen?"

* * *

Outside the office, Scott was pacing back and forth, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice Wanda standing and watching.

"Hey, nice job in there. Good to know your head isn't permanently up Xavier's ass." Scott snapped his head up quickly, acknowledging Wanda with a bothered expression.

"He's asked some difficult things before, but this is completely different. He's asking us to break into someone's home, and possibly steal their things."

"And you agreed to do it for him." Wanda said with a prideful smirk as Scott stopped pacing.

"Because I still trust him," Scott's expression was as firm as his stance. "He's treated me like a son since the day I walked in here, and I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I don't like the idea of breaking into someone's home." Wanda was slightly shocked at this display of conviction, the other members of the Brotherhood not being the most hardened of men. Her face did not waver for a second, however.

"Well, if you're still going go over there, do you mind waiting until after three? That's when Freddy goes to work, and this probably something we should do when the house is empty." Scott opened his mouth to protest when he remembered the breakfast plans he had made with Jean the previous night.

"Actually, that will work out perfectly, Wanda. Just meet me in the garage at two-thirty, alright?" Scott said, already anxious to move.

"Yea, whatever." Wanda answered, Scott already moving before she had finished her answer.

* * *

The black van chugged and sputtered down Ryland Street, the scraped tailpipe belching noxious black fumes at every opportunity. The van looked like it had come straight out of 1976, with one side sporting a fantastical portrait of a unicorn surrounded by blue fog, and the opposite side covered in a detailed portrait of a middle ages warrior engaged in a fierce battle with a purple dragon, fire spewing from its mouth as the warrior held his left arm aloft, his silver shield blocking the fire as his right arm remained slack, clutching a menacing broad sword. The back of the van was pasted with various bumper stickers, some supporting candidates in long past elections, others of various heavy metal bands, while still others held unique sentences of "wisdom," one of which proudly proclaimed, "Ass, Gas, or Grass: No One Rides For Free." The van groaned to a halt in front of the Brotherhood house, where the mutant known as Frederick Dukes was standing outside, waiting. The rear doors flew open in an instant, the lanky body of a Caucasian male with long, stringy auburn hair and glasses leaned out from within the automobile.

"Yo, Freddie, time ta make the burgers!" His tone was jovial, if a little hoarse. Freddie waddled over to the van, his gait surprisingly quick for a man of his immense size. The two slapped hands together, then Freddie uneasily pulled himself into the van, the back end dipping dangerously close to the ground, yet the van did not actually tip over. The doors were pulled shut and the ancient engine coughed to life again, the sounds of Led Zeppelin floating through the air for two full blocks.

Once the sounds of Jimmy Page had faded sufficiently, Scott pulled his convertible from its hiding place behind a grove of trees roughly half a block down the street, pulling into the driveway and killing the engine. The well-maintained car stuck out painfully in the surrounding lawn, patchy with crab grass, and the dilapidated two-story in front of it. Scott had forgone his official uniform, instead wearing his usual outfit of khakis and a polo shirt, while Wanda had decided to wear her uniform, consisting of a skintight scarlet corset and leather pants that left little to the imagination. There were several small rips in the pants that had been hastily sewn together with black thread. All this, coupled with a long trench coat, also in scarlet, and her codename of Scarlet Witch was left fairly obvious, although some thought a more appropriate name would have been Femme Fatale, given the overtly sensuous outfit and slightly homicidal behavior.

"Ok, Freddie's out of there, but where is everyone else?" Scott asked as they approached the door, several cracks and dents in the wood, jutting out, as though they had come from inside.

"They left." Wanda grumbled shortly.

"Thanks for the insight." Scott mumbled to himself in return as the two mutants entered the house, where the state of disrepair on the outside continued on throughout the interior of the domicile. Ignoring the overflowing piles of garbage in the kitchen and the worn, patchy furniture in the living room, Wanda led Scott up to the second floor.

"Look, I want to grab a few things I forgot. Mystique's room is the one at the end of the hall." Before Scott could ask any questions, Wanda turned and disappeared behind the nearest doorway, her coat billowing behind her. Scott sighed before grudgingly approaching the closed door at the end of the short hallway. He grasped the brass knob firmly, only to discover the door had been securely locked. Upon closer inspection, he found that the original lock was destroyed beyond repair. The scorch marks around the busted lock told Scott that Tabitha had treated the Brotherhood house pretty much the same way she had treated the Mansion. Six inches above this lock, however, was a very obviously new deadbolt. Whatever lay within Mystique's sanctum, it was obvious she considered herself the only one worthy to be privy to such information. Scott grimaced at the heavy wooden door for several minutes before lifting up his glasses enough to send a beam of energy from his eyes to the deadbolt, disabling it enough to allow entry into the bedroom.

The room was truly a diamond in the rough. Unlike every other room in the dilapidated house, this one was in near-pristine condition. The centerpiece to the expansive chamber was, without a doubt, the four-post canopy bed, constructed of fine maple and dressed in fine linen. All the furniture in the room was high end, from the antique vanity directly across from the bed to the chest of drawers that looked as though it had come directly from Renaissance-age Europe. Scott uninterestedly pushed through several of the drawers, finding nothing of any worth, mostly old receipts and several books. Closing the drawer lowest to the floor, Scott let out a sigh before standing up and pulling a small tube of lip balm out of his pocket. Applying a small bit to his chapped lips, the tube fell out of his hand as he was about to drop it back into his pants pocket. Uttering a small curse to himself, he got down on his hands and knees, reaching an arm underneath the dresser. Moving his hand across the hardwood floor, his finger suddenly hit a loose floorboard, and several seconds of blindly fiddling with the piece wood produced the desired result, as it popped up from the floor, allowing Scott to reach into the now-exposed hole, his hand grasping several photographs. Scott pulled the photographs out of the small hole and righted himself somewhat, leaning back on the bed and sitting cross-legged on the floor. The first photos were all of a young girl playing in a yard, sitting around a table with various dolls and stuffed animals. There were empty tea cups at every chair, and the girl, although clothed from her neck to her feet, was smiling widely. Scott suddenly became very aware of where he was, and he felt guilty, but he felt possessed, unable to stop looking at the photos. After several of Rogue playing with her dolls, there was one of Mystique sitting at the table, in her natural, blue skinned state. Rogue was grinning wildly as she offered Mystique an empty porcelain cup as Mystique smiled, actually smiled, down at the girl. Scott had never seen Mystique with a smile that did not contain all the malice a single soul could possibly muster. Here, she had a natural, good-natured smile. Scott stared at the picture for what could have easily been an eternity, seeing it but not truly comprehending it. After a while, he shook his head, quickly placing the photograph on the floor next to him, in a pile of other photos he had already seen. At that moment, Scott made a concrete decision to get these photos to Rogue, deciding that she should see them at least once. The remainders of the photos were of Rogue, Mystique, and a blind woman Scott recognized as a companion to Mystique; however, he was unable to place her name. He neatly collected the photos in a pile, and placed them in the pocket of his pants, and was about to leave when he impulsively decided to take one more look at the hidden cache underneath Mystique's floor. Running his hand through the interior of the hole, he was rewarded with two polaroids. What was contained on those pieces of synthetic plastic and liquid crystals made Scott's jaw hit the floor. Before he could stop himself, he was screaming for Wanda, the one witness he knew was within a close distance.

"What the hell are you screaming about?" Wanda screamed herself, standing in the doorway with her hands balled into fists.

"Take-take a look at this." Scott stammered out, a trembling hand holding out the two photographs. Wanda stomped over and snatched the photographs out of Scott's hand. The first one was of a small, blue baby in a bassinet, a pointed tail visible through the bright blue blanket covering most of the infant's body. A scrawled message at the bottom of the photo read, "Kurt, 1987."

"So, it's a baby picture of Kurt. Big fucking deal."

"Look at the other one." Wanda complied, but letting out an angry sigh before doing so, as though she considered all this beneath her. The other photo was similar, of a small baby in a bassinet, blue skin, yellow eyes, and a pointed tail grasped in the infant's three slender fingers. However, the blanket was colored a bright pink instead of blue. In addition, the message at the bottom of this photo read, "Talia, 1987." Wanda quirked an eyebrow as her anger dissipated in place of confusion.

"Since when does Kurt have a sister?"

* * *

A/N: I think that's a suitable cliffhanger. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter; I'll hopefully have the next one up soon enough. Oh, and for the record, there will not be any OC's in this story. Remember, I don't own the X-men, and I make no money off of this story. All I ask is that you review. Thank you, and good night. 


	4. Chapter 4

Walter Royce was a man of sixty-five years. He had been witness to the entire second half of the twentieth century, a fact he accepted with quite a bit of mirth. One story he was very fond of telling was of a driving trip with his own father and hearing a new song from a then-unknown singer by the name of Elvis Presley. Upon hearing his name, Walter remarked aloud, "Well, he'll never go far with a name like that." Of course, Walter had also seen the future in computers and cell phones long before either became culturally pervasive. His first real career had been that of a teacher at a private school for gifted children. He had enjoyed the job thoroughly, however, after twelve years he had abruptly quit, enrolling in seminary school and earning a Doctorate of Ministry. He had found the dogma of the Unitarian Universalists to be exactly what he was searching for, and had been preaching ever since. He was not without his vices, however, often enjoying a glass of Scotch Whiskey while writing sermons. He had married only once, to a woman named Catherine Hall, for close to thirty years. Catherine was a fifty-nine year old social worker who helped women and men deal with sexual assault, a job she loved despite its overwhelming emotional toll. Neither of these occupations was overly lavish when it came to pay, however it had allowed the two to purchase a modest one-story bungalow in the Northern California suburb, where they had lived for almost as long as their marriage. There was only one dark side to their marriage, and that was Catherine's inability to have children. They had tried for years with absolutely no luck, and they had given up almost all hope when they, by some fluke, happened to be at the same social function Father Allen Barker, a priest who often volunteered his time at the same shelter that Catherine sent many of her clients who were in danger. Father Barker had recently taken in an abandoned child that was left in front of his church. Nineteen years from that night, and Walter was currently watching that abandoned child, now his daughter, as she slept on the couch, a Playstation controller next to her head and her paused video game still glowing on the television screen.

"TJ, time to wake up," The only sign of movement from the blue-skinned girl was the sluggish exhale of breath. Walter's bearded lips, gray with only the slightest brown left, contorted into a cross between a smile and a grimace, both amused and annoyed at TJ's complete lack of motivation. "Come on, you don't get to sleep late just because you were playing video games all night." Her pointed tail twitched as TJ slowly, lazily lifted her head, her mouth opening as wide as possible in a large yawn before she repositioned herself on the couch, now laying on her back and staring at her adoptive father with heavy yellow eyes.

"What time is it?" She asked after several seconds, her dark blue-black hair mussed from sleep. TJ's mutations were physical as well as genetic. She possessed three fingers on each hand and two toes on each foot, rather than the five that most were born with. Her skin was blue, along with her hair, and she also had a long, thin tail, the same shade of blue as the rest of her with a sharp point at the end. Despite this unique, almost demonic look, Talia was a beautiful girl, her odd physiology only adding to her allure.

"I'll tell you what time it is, it's time to get up," Walter announced in a voice that, to someone who had just entered consciousness a few seconds earlier, could lightly be described as annoying. Walter smiled, clutching his cup of coffee as he settled into a Cherry wood rocking chair across from the couch. Noticing the steaming cup of brown liquid in her father's hand, she bolted into an upright sitting position.

"Coffee? Kitchen?" Her father just smiled.

"Go get a cup; we can talk once you're awake." Talia leapt from the couch and bolted down the short hallway that led towards the kitchen, leaving her father sitting alone in the living room. He stood, gazing out the front bay window with which the couch lay flush.

"Morning, Mom." Talia kissed her mother on the cheek before trotting over to the black coffeemaker and, pulling the clear glass pot out from its hotplate, filling a red ceramic mug to near the brim with dark, steaming liquid before replacing the pot under the drip, mixing three packets of sugar in with the coffee.

"So, Talia, how late were you up last night?" Catherine asked once Talia had sat down at the kitchen table.

"Not that late." She muttered, staring into her cup. Her mother gained a small, knowing smirk, peering over her bifocals as Walter walked into the room.

"Right. And do you work today?"

"Not until three. I've got plenty of time." She leaned back into her chair, clearly content with her unplanned plan, taking in a large gulp of coffee. A worried glance passed between Walter and Catherine.

"If I were you, Talia, I wouldn't sound so proud of that," Walter frowned over his glasses, a look Talia merely ignored before taking another sip of coffee. "Now, would you like some breakfast? There's some bacon and eggs left."

"Actually, I was going to head over to Jeanette's place before work, unless you need me around here." admitted Talia, referring to her best friend since high school.

"Well, I have work, so that's my day's plan. I'm not sure what your father has planned," mentioned Catherine, shooting another smile at her husband. "Do you have anything big planned for the day?"

"Me? No, I haven't got anything on my plate," said Walter, sitting flush with the back of the chair, a position that eased discomfort on his spine, a problem that had plagued him since his mid-fifties. "I did want to see if I could spray the bees under the awnings again; I'm pretty sure I didn't get the whole hive last week." Talia gulped down the rest of her coffee, savoring the hot, bitter taste.

"Well, alright, guess I'll take a shower, then, "Talia tucked a lock of tangled blue hair behind her ear before rising from her chair, strutting off in the direction of her bedroom with her tail swishing behind her the entire time.

"Well, Cathie, more coffee?" Catherine crossed her arms on the table and sighed before answering.

"Sure. I've got an early meeting, and I could use all the caffeine I can get." Walter obliged, picking up both coffee mugs from the finished bleached oak tabletop, filling them with the last of the coffee. Cathie took a sip of her black coffee before turning to face Walter.

"Are you going to talk to her?" Walter grimaced.

"I've tried, but everytime I do, she just shoots the argument down. It's almost like she lost all motivation the minute she graduated high school."

"Well, it's unacceptable, a straight-A student working part-time in some record shop."

* * *

"I have a tvin sister? Since vhen? Vhy haven't I met her?" Kurt was incredulous at the discovery Scott and Wanda had made in Mystique's bedroom. Those three, plus Xavier, were gathered in his office, the two baby pictures laying face up in front of the professor.

"I am curious about that as well, Kurt. Wanda, you're positive this girl has never been in the brotherhood house?"

"The only blue person ever in that house was Mystique, and she's not big on guests." Wanda had barely finished her statement, however, when Kurt shouted out.

"Are you positive, Vanda? Maybe Mystique found her an image inducer, like mine?"

"I'm positive, Wagner! Why the hell would I say I hadn't seen her unless I hadn't seen her?!" Wanda shouted back, her face only inches from Kurt's. Scott watched the exchange with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Professor, you should be able to find her on Cerebro, right?" The professor leaned back into his wheelchair, clutching his chin with a single hand.

"Theoretically, yes. However, it is entirely possible that Mystique has taken the steps to shield the girl from any telepathic intrusion. If that is the case, then I'm not sure what we'll do." Xavier explained, directing the last of his statement towards Kurt, whose dour expression fell even more, if such a thing was even possible.

"Professor, zhere has to be a vay to find her." Kurt pleaded, desperate to try and connect as much of his natural family as possible.

"I am not going to give up without trying, Kurt. If your sister," the professor checked the photo again, making sure of the name written. "Talia, uses her powers even once, I will know about it. I'm going to use the X-gene signatures of both you and Mystique as a guide," The professor hit the lever on the arm of his chair, the motor humming to life as he wheeled around from behind the desk. "Scott, I'm going to leave you and Logan in charge while I am in Cerebro. I would prefer you only to interrupt me in case of a dire emergency," The three mutants followed Charles out the door of his office, the sounds of their walking muffled by the oriental carpeting, only the whirring of the motor audible. Logan waited just outside the door, his arms crossed across his barrel of a chest. "Logan, I see you received my telepathic message."

"Loud and clear like always, Chuck. So what's so important you gotta leave me and slim in charge of these rugrats?" Logan shot a lopsided grin through the toothpick clenched in his teeth, a small, ineffective substitution for the cigars he usually smoked but were disallowed inside.

"A peculiar discovery made by Scott and Wanda at the brotherhood house. It appears Kurt has a twin sister; however, her whereabouts are currently unknown." Logan plucked the damp piece of wood from between his incisors.

"And you ain't seen him, Witch?" Wanda's eyes narrowed menacingly at this comment.

"For the last time, no! Are you this distrusting of everyone, or did you just save it for me?"

"Nah, I got some for the Cajun, too." Logan quipped in a monotone, not missing a single beat.

"Logan, Wanda, please," Charles interrupted. "Wanda has said no one matching the girl's description has been in the brotherhood house, and I believe her. Right now, any hope of locating the girl lies with Cerebro, which is where I am heading. Try not to assign too many Danger Room sessions in my absence, Logan." Charles grinned and Logan returned in kind.

"Hey, it ain't my fault these kids are soft. All I'm doing is helpin' em out a bit."

"Be that as it may, many of them are still enrolled in school." The professor looked as though he was going to continue, however Logan merely waved off the comment.

"I got ya loud and clear, Chuck."

"Wait, how long are you planning to be in there, professor?" The professor was already wheeling towards the elevator, but he spoke over his shoulder.

"For the rest of the night at least, Scott." The four watched as the professor's seated form retreated down the hall until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight entirely. Kurt simply teleported away in a cloud of dark smoke and foul sulfur, obviously too wrapped in the information he'd just received to engage in any conversation. Even Wanda didn't question his abrupt departure. Scott was the first to speak.

"Uh, Logan, have you seen Rogue anywhere?"

"Not since lunch, but I'd say find the spot a far from the Cajun as she can get without actually leaving the mansion."

"Remy's looking for her?"

"That's what my gut says. I'm goin' outside for a smoke, ya want one?"

"Uh, no thanks, Logan. You enjoy." Logan shrugged his eyebrows, flicking his gnawed toothpick at the nearest trashcan.

"Suit yerself, slim." With that, Logan stalked off in the direction of the nearest door leading to the outside, leaving Wanda and Scott alone, staring awkwardly at each other.

"Um, I guess I'm going to go find Rogue. Uh, see you." Scott stammered before walking off, leaving Wanda alone with nothing to do.

"Time was I could torture Toad whenever I was bored," Wanda sighed. "I hope there's something good on TV."

* * *

Talia stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel before quickly running across the hall to her room, shutting the door behind her. Her bedroom reflected her somewhat unmotivated nature, no part more so than her bed. The sheets merely lay on the bare mattress in a pile, the naked pillow propped against the wall. A laptop was laid next to the cream-colored mattress, covered in stickers from her favorite bands, mostly classic rock bands. Posters dotted the unpainted walls, all attached with either duct tape or thumbtacks, and quite a few were crooked. The closet doors lay open, revealing a state of the art stereo system, designed to play CDs, vinyl records, and cassettes. The shelf unit it stood on was filled to bursting with albums on all three formats, and CD cases lay scattered about the room. Several articles of clothing hung loose on plastic hangers; however, most of her clothing was either hung over the backs of one of the chairs that stood about the room, and shoes dotted the floor like small land mines. A full length mirror stood next to a long, squat bookcase overfilled more so than the shelves that held her music. This two-tiered shelf unit held books ranging from classic fiction to biographies to non-fiction, and even two dictionaries.

Approaching the mirror, she pulled a comb through her lengthy hair several times until it hung loose around her face, framing it well. She had no makeup, seeing no real reason to wear any, figuring years ago that it probably wouldn't show up on her skin anyway. After pulling on a pair of underwear and a bra, she threw on the T-shirt that was closest to her before sliding on a pair of jeans, drawing her tail through a hole she had made specifically for her extra appendage. Bending over to find a pair of shoes to wear and some clean socks, she felt something hit her tail. Brushing it off, she resumed her search, only to feel something smack it again. Annoyed, Talia turned around to find a small grey tabby cat, its eyes following the swishing tail. The cat attempted to dart at its prey, however, Talia scooped the tiny mammal up, grasping it under its front legs.

"My tail is not your toy, Imp. We have discussed this," Imp was a two year old stray Talia's mother had found wandering behind the house as a kitten. The creature was filthy, caked in mud and festering with fleas and ear mites. It intrigued Talia at times, the way both her and this cat had been taken in after being abandoned by their respective parents. However, right now, this kitten was finding the closed widow to the right more interesting than the person clutching him. Talia sighed, "You don't even know what I'm saying, do you?" Talia walked over to the door, letting the cat down in the hallway before shutting the door again.

Once she had managed to locate a pair of socks and shoes, Talia dug next to her bed, coming up with a black cell phone and dialing the number for Jeanette.

"Hey Tj," came a female voice after three rings.

"Hey, Jeanette, do you still want me to head over?"

"Of course, dude. When don't we want you over here?" Tj snickered before answering.

"Usually when you and your _boyfriend_ are feeling frisky." She teased, referring to Jeanette and George, who, despite sleeping together several times, had yet to admit their feelings for each other, at least according to Tj.

"Or when you refer to him like that," Jeanette said, annoyed. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Right, you just go to the movies, and dinner-"

"Once!"

"Admit you like him and I'll leave you alone."

"Drop the subject and I'll give back your copy of _The Big Lebowski_."

"You said two days ago you didn't have that!"

"You left it over here last Saturday after the party, and now I'm holding it hostage." Tj glared into the phone, despite knowing that her friend could not see it. However, she was certain that her friend was as smug as ever.

"Fine." Jeanette laughed.

"Oh, come on Tj, don't pout. Are you heading over now, or what?"

"Yea, but I've got work today, so I can't be there all day."

"Hey, that's cool. I'll see you in a few."

"See ya." Hitting the red End Call button on the phone, Talia dropped the electronic in her purse before grabbing the long strap off the doorknob and slipping it over her shoulder. She exited her room, but left the door gaping open, as if to display the state of disarray. She turned, almost smacking straight into her father, both making exclaimed noises.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

"Waiting for you. I was going to see if you wanted a ride to your friend's house."

"Oh, that's ok. It's not that far. I don't want you to waste all that gas just to drive me a few blocks." Her father merely waved that off, walking over to the front door and grabbing his car keys from their hook.

"It's not wasting gas; I have a few errands to run anyway." Tj sighed, figuring out her father's ulterior motive in an instant.

"We're having another talk, aren't we?" Walter smiled.

"Got it in one. Come on, get in the car."

* * *

Rogue brushed a stray lock of white hair behind her ear for what felt like the thousandth time before turning back to her book. With no missions, she was left with little else to do but catch up on her reading. However, her solitude was about to be interrupted, something that, while a frequent occurrence around the mansion, was still something that irritated Rogue every time it happened. She heard soft steps plod into the room, but she kept her focus on the dog-eared copy of the _Books of Blood_ lying in her lap.

"Bonjour." It was a simple greeting, but the accent, the voice, and Rogue knew there was only one person that could be in the room with her.

"What tha hell do ya want?" She refused to take her eyes off the lines on the page.

"Moi? Not a t'ing. ' was just wonderin how yi been." His voice was calm, almost milquetoast, and he was keeping his distance, leaning against a window frame about ten feet from Rogue. He was acting nothing like the arrogant, confident man who had kidnapped her. It made her curious, curious enough to draw attention away from Clive Barker and towards this intruder.

"Ah've been fahne, though Ah _am _trayin ta read hehre." Rogue's answer was short, and she held up the book with one hand, her thumb acting as a bookmark. Remy acknowledged this with a curt nod of his head. Rogue turned her attention back to her book, only to be interrupted again.

"Ain't read anyt'ing by him. He a good aut'or?"

"Are ya hehre fohr a reason? Ohr did ya just feel lahke annoyin' meh?" Rogue shouted, slamming the book down on her lap. Remy's eyes widened momentarily, and, immediately afterwards, his mouth opened for several seconds, but no words came out, as though he was debating whether the thoughts in his head would be worth the breath necessary to say them.

"Ne'ermind, chere. T'ain't 'mportant." Pushing himself off the widow frame with his own shoulder, Remy walked out of the library with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and quick steps. With an angry sigh, Rogue redirected her attention to her book.

"Yi still got de Queen o' hearts? Dat card I gve yi?" Again, Rogue was jolted out of her imagination.

"What? No, Ah tossed thaht as soon as Ah gohht outta thaht gawd-forsaken swamp ya cahll a home." Rogue poured as much anger as she could into that sentence, in the hopes that it would chase Remy out of the room as quickly as possible. However, when she made eye contact with him, he actually had the slightest hints of a grin on his face.

"Figured as much. Silly a me ti even ask." That, and he was gone. Rogue stared at the empty doorway for several seconds, confused, before turning back to her book, figuring that whatever Remy had meant, it wasn't worth the minutes it was taking away from her free time. As the air of silence swirled around her, Rogue found herself falling deeper into the book, until, again, there was a voice.

"Hey, Rogue, I-

"What in tha hell do ya-Scott, what ahre ya doing hehre?" Scott Summers was standing in the doorway of the library, a brick of photographs clutched in his left hand.

"Did I catch you at a bad time, because I can talk to you later, if you want?"

"Nah, Ah'm fahne. What do ya need? Do we hahve a mission?" Walking over, Scott answered her question, handing her the photographs once he was close enough.

"No mission, at least, not right now," Scott answered with a smile, a small joke at the unpredictable lives they led. "No, uh, you heard about Wanda me checking out the Brotherhood house, right?"

"Nah. What were ya doin at thaht dump, anaway?"

"The professor wanted us to see if we could find any clue about where Mystique's disappeared to. Anyway, I, uh, found these and I thought you should have them." Upon hearing this, Rogue actually took a look at the photos for the first time. Within the first second, Scott could have sworn he heard Rogue's blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Are these…baby photographs? Of meh?"

"Look, I know how you feel about Mystique, I just thought-

"Ah ain't mad, Scott, just…look, Ah'm gonna head upstairs. Th-Thanks fohr givin' thse ta meh, Ah appreciate it." Her voice cracked slightly at the end.

"Well, no problem. I just wanted to make sure you got them. Uh, hey, You haven't seen Jean anywhere, have you? I haven't seen her anywhere."

"Huh? Nah, Ah ain't seen her." With that, Rogue was gone, hurrying upstairs as fast as her legs would carry her, leaving Scott standing alone in the library with Rogue's paperback, abandoned to the floor.

* * *

As soon as she was in the passenger seat of her father's compact car, a small silver-green Hyundai, she was flipping through the radio stations, her fingers twisting the knob as fast as it would spin. Her rationalization was that, if she couldn't drive, she could at least decide on the radio station.

"No radio," her father directed as soon as the car was moving, a direction that earned Walter a glare from his daughter. It was ignored. "We need to talk about your plans."

"I'm going to Jeanette's house, and then to work. I'll home after work, same as always." Talia smiled, hoping this would end the conversation, knowing full well it wouldn't.

"You know what I mean. Have you given any thought about college?"

"Why do I need to go to college? I'm fine here. I have friends, I have a job-

"You work part-time at a record store, Talia, is that what you're going to do for the rest of your life?"

"No, but college isn't going to help me do what I want. I don't know what I want to do, so why should I go to college just to take a bunch of classes that aren't going to help me? It'll just be a bunch of people staring at me and whispering anyway." Walter's knuckles began to turn white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Don't even try to use that as an excuse." His voice was calm, but his face betrayed his growing emotions. Talia's eyes grew narrow in an instant, the yellow orbs turning into tiny slits.

"What excuse? It's a simple fact! I've lived here all my life, and people still look at me funny wherever I go! Now you and mom want me to go somewhere to be stared at and judged, without anyone I know to talk to!"

"You made straight A's all through high school. You have your pick of colleges, Ivy League universities! You could do college in your sleep and still pass," The minute car pulled to a stop in front of a rundown brick apartment building, a small, rusty wrought-iron sign the only identification for the seventeen-story building. Apart from the rusty sign, which had read "Monument street apartments" in better days, there was little apart from one's own imagination to signify that the ground bordering the thin concrete walkway leading up to the entrance was, indeed, a lawn. The only green was possessed by some children's playthings, tipped over and abandoned in favor some unknown distraction. "So why are you so insistent on not doing anything with that?" Tj climbed out of the car, fixing her father with an angry glare which he returned in kind.

"I am not wasting my life." Tj finally replied through gritted teeth.

"I never said you were. I'm just worried you're not going to continue your education." Tj's expression softened slightly, but not completely.

"Dad, I can go to college anytime, it's not like there's an age limit. What's wrong with me waiting?" Walter's expression relented, but Tj could tell this was in no way the last she had heard on the subject.

"Fine. Are you going to be able to get to work?"

"Of course."

"Alright. Have fun with your friends." With that last, concise exchange, rage threatening to boil over the entire time but never actually doing so, Tj slammed the car door shut and her father sped off, leaving the nineteen-year-old mutant alone on the sidewalk. She walked up the sidewalk quickly, her boots making loud, hollow noises on the cheap, cracked concrete. The screen door swung open and clattered with the bricks, the metal vibrating violently after the collision. The small lobby was illuminated by a single florescent light that constantly flickered, bathing the room in a sick mustard-yellow. The walls were decorated solely with small brass doors, mailboxes, most of which were covered in grime of a indeterminate origin. Tj had made a steadfast vow to herself upon her first visit, the vow that she would never attempt to discover what exactly was covering those mailbox doors.

"What's up, dude?" Without so much as a glance behind her, Tj knew who had spoken. She turned to face her friend, who was sitting on the floor of the lobby, her arms wrapped around her shins. Jeanette was nineteen, the same age as Tj, and looked like a cross between your stereotypical hippie and your stereotypical Goth. She had long, light-brown dreadlocks that hung from her scalp to just above the small of her back. She had her left nostril, the middle of her lip, and her tongue pierced, as well as twelve piercings total in both ears. She was usually clad in a t-shirt promoting some sort of band, and usually wore an open zip-up hoodie over that shirt. Jeanette only owned one pair of actual pants; the rest were cut-offs. The pants, a pair of paint-splattered khakis, were her, "dress pants," in her own words. Her frame was slight, although this had more to do with childhood gymnastics than eating habits.

"Hey, Jeanette." Tj returned with little enthusiasm, to which Jeannette cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, shit, glad you're happy to see me." Jeanette voiced in a sarcastic tone, but in the same slow, paced voice as before. Tj pursed her lips together, staring over her friend's shoulder toward the door, still gaping open.

"I'm sorry; it's just my dad's on me about college again."

"I thought you told them you didn't want to go right now."

"I did, they just don't listen."

"Dude, no worries. We can watch a movie, hang, calm you down a little bit before you gotta work. Cool?" Tj smiled at her friend.

"Sounds great. I just want to have two hours where I don't have to think about college."

* * *

Piotr trudged down the hallway, his steps slow and measured even when not weighed down by his armored form. He was joined by Illyana, the small blonde girl bouncing circles around her taller brother. Her lengthy blonde hair whipped and spun about in coordination with her movements, and she kept a small brown stuffed rabbit clutched close to her chest the entire time. Piotr grasped the brass doorknob firmly in one massive hand and, upon pushing upon the door, was greeted by the pungent, acrid odor of smoke. Despite having lived with a chain smoker and a pyromaniac for several years, Piotr could still not tell the difference between different clouds. As quickly as he could, Piotr dug a coloring book and a handful of crayons out of an open bag and handed them to his sister before rushing out to the balcony, shutting the glass door behind him.

"Remy, vhat are you smoking?" His teammate and friend, a title Piotr bestowed upon Remy somewhat reluctantly, was reclining in a cheap plastic folding chair with his feet propped up on the wrought-iron railing. Stubbed out cigarette butts were littered across the floor of the balcony; Piotr was able to count twelve without so much as a second glance at his feet.

"No worries, mon ami. Dis only de kinda cigarette dat kills yi." Remy was still staring out toward the estate grounds, not even bothering to make the briefest of eye contact with Piotr.

"Zhat does not make me feel better." He stood with his spine straight and his thick arms slack at his sides, as though existing solely as a living antithesis of his Cajun friend.

"Talked ti Rogue taday, Petey. Been t'inking bout it evir since," Remy paused, staring off into space again. Piotr opened his mouth to speak, however, before he could speak, Remy continued on a stream of consciousness rant as though Piotr's presence was acknowledged but not necessary. "Ya know. Petey, 'm not sure bout dis femme. T'ought she could relate ti me, yi know? Both o us dealt wit' de same type o parent, seems like we should just gravitate toward eac'otha, raght? 'M willin ti admit dat her mere screwed her ova in ways dat no one should know, mais dat ain't de point. Yi t'ink dat de whole kidnappin' t'ing was a bad idea?"

"I do not know, Remy," Piotr cast a glance through the door, satisfied that his sister was still engrossed in her coloring book. "Have you perhaps apologized to zhis woman?" Remy took in another forceful drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt over the balcony. He stared out into the distance and the setting sun for several minutes.

"Yi tink dat'd help?"

"I believe it vould be a start." Remy continued staring out into the distance, Piotr continued to stand at attention, and Illyana continued to doodle in her coloring book, showing little regard for the lines she was supposed to filling. She would continue to be enraptured by this for several hours. Piotr and Remy, however, were not so lucky. In mid-conversation, albeit an awkward one, the Professor's voice boomed through both their heads.

"All X-men please report to the War Room immediately."

* * *

Author's note: So this is chapter four, right? Usual stuff, I don't own these characters, Marvel does. I'm not making any money off of this, and also, this story is rated M for a reason. Next chapter will be up as soon as it's written. Please review this story, let me know what's good, what's not, what should be changed and what should never change. Outright praise is also accepted. Until next time folks, keep reading. 


	5. Chapter 5

"So Petey, yi got 'ny idea why Xavier's callin us down?" Remy kept in stride with his friend as they both made their way down the metal hallway that was the basement of the Xavier Institute.

"I do not, Remy. I vould imagine zhat is vhy ve have been summoned down here."

"T'anks fo statin' de obvious, mon ami," Remy muttered as the two made their way down the wide corridor. For several minutes, the only audible sounds were heavy footsteps hitting steel in a constant pattern. "Hey, Petey, yi t'ink we made de right decision comin' here?" Remy asked his question in a clipped, hurried voice, so different from his usual tone that it took Piotr several seconds to discern what exactly he had been asked.

"I believe zhat question comes too late." Piotr left the sentence dangling at the last moments, as though there was more he wanted to say but the words simply died in his mouth.

"Dat it?"

"Vhat more is zhere to say, Remy? Vhere else is zhere for us to go?" Remy answer consisted of him blowing air through gritted teeth, a noise similar to a malfunctioning radiator. They continued in silence for several feet, both wrapped up in their own thoughts, until Piotr spoke again, his voice echoing down the windowless corridor despite his attempts to whisper.

"Remy, are you aware of vhere it is ve are expected?"

"Sumthin called de War Room."

"Yes, but can you tell vhere zhat is?" Silence.

"M' hopin it's in dis house somewhere," More silence. "Dat was a joke, Petey. Jus' keep walkin, we bound to stumble 'pon it sooner o later."

* * *

The first thing that struck both Remy and Piotr upon entering the War Room was the clear and distinct lack of students. They both could easily remember the numerous pairs of eyes that had focused on them upon their arrival. Now, there were only twenty-two pairs of eyes staring them down, many of which belonged to the teachers rather than students. The only new person they recognized was Wanda Maximoff, whose body language and constant, loud sighs were both clues that she was displeased to have been dragged down here. Most of the people present looked just as confused as Remy and Piotr, with the notable exception of Kurt Wagner, who was rubbing his hands together in a constant, nervous motion.

"Glad you two were able to wander in here finally. Hope we didn't interrupt anything important." Logan growled, leaning against a wall near the entrance, his arms crossed firmly over his chest, certainly a formidable sight for anyone. This sight, however, didn't stop Remy from doing everything in his power to push Logan's butons.

"Non, but next tahme mebey yi could make us all some drinks." Remy let his accented words ooze out extra slow as a smug grin stretched quietly from ear to ear. Piotr quickly and quietly settled his massive frame into the seat nearest the door, while Remy shrugged himself in the seat immediately to Piotr's right, a seat that so happened to be next to Rogue.

"Whatever the reason for your late arrival, it is of no importance," Professor Xavier interjected, knowing Logan's famously short fuse. "We have a mission today, one I am afraid I cannot give you much information about. Thanks to the discovery of a certain photograph in the Brotherhood house, I was made aware of the existence of Kurt's twin sister," the Professor motioned towards Kurt, whose face was the picture of anxious anticipation. His eyes were open wide, and his three-fingered hands grasped the edge of the table in a vice grip. "After several hours inside Cerebro, I located who I believe to be this long-lost sibling in Northern California. Now, Logan, Hank and I will be transporting a team out into the general vicinity to look for her. Ororo, Wanda, I would like you two to remain here and keep an eye on the students."

"Of course, Charles." Ororo answered in her usual regal tone, while Wanda grunted out an unintelligible noise and, crossing her arms on the surface of the table, laid her head down over her pale forearms.

"Not to, like, be rude or anything, Professor, but how much trouble do you expect one mutant to be? It sounds like you think we're going to be gone for a while." Kitty questioned. She was sitting next to her roommate and friend, Rogue, who was seemingly in a silent contest with Wanda over who could look more bored.

"Normally, no, however, Mystique's involvement with this girl demands that we stay prepared. Mystique may not be the most terrifying enemy head-on, but I can assure you she is well versed in the art of deception. I wish to take no chances on this mission." His words were not meant as a threat in any way, and yet still every soul in that cavernous room felt a hidden fire behind those words, so much so that the only response were nervous glances traded about the room.

"Professor, do you have any idea what this girl's powers are?" Scott chose his words very carefully, his question coming out slow and practiced, akin to an actor reading their lines for the first time.

"Not at this time, Scott. I consider myself lucky that I even noticed her signature in the first place. That I even know the flash came from California is by simple luck. I truly wish I could give you more information; however I am sorry to admit I do not have a wealth of any real details. Whoever your sister is, Kurt, Mystique has done a fine job of hiding her."

"Ve'll find her zhough, right? I mean, mother can't hide her forever?" The desperation in Kurt's voice was hard to ignore, and close to impossible not to feel sympathy for.

"I can promise you we will do everything in our power to ensure the right outcome. The choice is ultimately hers, of course, however I want to do everything possible to see this Talia girl under our roof at the end of this. You are dismissed; please meet in the hanger in exactly one half-hour." The students were quick to file out, with Ororo and Logan following in quick succession. Ororo went in the direction of her attic greenhouse, while Logan had already produced a cigar from the breast pocket of his shirt. The only people left were Professor Xavier and Hank McCoy, the latter of which wasted no time opening his mouth once the room was void of other ears.

"Charles, I'm beginning to wonder if even you believe your stories anymore."

"I am not in the mood, Henry." Charles answered tersely, refusing to look his slightly simian friend in the eyes.

"And I am not concerned in the slightest what sort of mood you're in. You're not telling them even half of what you know."

"They know everything they need to. I'll not have them knowing every sordid detail of my past," Hank plodded toward the exit as Charles was still in mid-sentence, but Charles' final words made him stop in his tracks. "Besides, Henry, I don't see you rushing to inform our students of my past indiscretions." Henry paused, turning face his friend in the eyes despite the considerable distance between the exit and Professor Xavier's perch at the head of the circular table.

"I'm giving you one last chance to do the right thing, Charles. If you have any respect for me or what this school once stood for, you will not waste that chance."

* * *

"There's something he is not telling us, Scott. He is hiding something." Jean's voice was airy, light, but lacked all emotion. The two were standing in Scott's bedroom, dressing

"Who?" Scott looked up from the zipper of his uniform.

"Professor Xavier. I detect something in his voice and his thoughts that he doesn't want anyone to know." Scott's jaw would have hit the floor if not for it being attached to his skull. He tried in vain to find the proper words.

"Jean, you-you read the Professor's thoughts? What in the world would you do that for?"

"I didn't do it on purpose; I'm just having a harder time shutting out thoughts than  
I used to." Her voice returned to the rich, full voice that Scott was used to hearing. He walked up to her, placing his hands on either side of her hips.

"Jean, I really wish you'd stay here at the mansion. If there's something going wrong-"

"There's nothing _wrong,_ Scott," Jean spat, disgusted at his choice of words. "I feel better than I've ever felt before. Look, I'm glad you're concerned for my well being, but this all getting a little annoying." She mentally pushed his hands off of her body, then his full body weight, sending Scott tumbling to the floor. Scott was, to say the least, shocked by this display of power. Jean frowned, then left without so much as a mumbled goodbye. Scott pushed himself into a sitting position, to confused at the moment to do anything more than stare at the open doorway.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

"Aren't you excited, Rogue? Just zhink, a tvin sister!" Kurt was barely able to contain his excitement as he walked down the hall, joined by his adopted sister Rogue and mutual friend Kitty. Unlike Scott and Jean, who had made it up to the residence levels as quickly as possible, these three were lazily walking about the basement. They had been practicing in the Danger Room when Professor Xavier's psychic call had gone out, and thus had no need to hunt for their uniforms. Rogue had been there first, working out by herself, running the same program on a constant repeat. Rogue had been fighting Mystique.

"Huh? Kurt, don't ya think yah're getting' a little ovaexcahted about ahll of this?" Rogue questioned, her shoulders slumped and her mind very clearly in other places. Rogue's attitudes towards her mother had been strained at best, but Rogue had always been able to say, without hesitation, that Mystique had been a cold, uncaring woman, and always would be. However, these photos showed a side previously unknown to Rogue, or at the very least long-forgotten, tucked away in some distant, dusty corner of white matter. While most people would want peace and solitude, Rogue wanted noise. She wanted action, she wanted excitement, she wanted any distraction possible from having to think about those photos, and she went to the one place where distractions were a guarantee.

"Vhat do you mean? How can you not get excited about a sister our own mother hid from us?"

"She ain't mah mother!" Rogue snapped quickly, her face less than an inch from Kurt's. He backed away several feet, too scared to respond except to turn his face halfway from Rogue's wrathful glare and clutch his tail in both hands, rubbing the fur in a nervous motion. Kitty also moved a slight distance from Rogue, however, unlike Kurt, she was not afraid to speak on the issue of Rogue and Kurt's mother, something that sharply divided Rogue and Kurt's otherwise stable familial relationship.

"Rogue, like, you can still be excited about the idea of having a sister." Rogue turned from Kurt, the look of fury no longer in her eyes.

"Thaht's just the thing. How do weh know thaht Mystique hasn't already found this gal? She could beh brainwashin her as weh speak! Hell, sheh got tah meh before ya'll did," Rogue answered with no discernable effort to hide the bitterness in her voice. "Look, Ah hope Ah'm wrong. Ah hope weh get out there and this gal ain't got the slightest ahdea who Mystique is. Ah she neva has tah know. Ahll Ah'm doin' is bein realistic." With a huff, Rogue stormed away, hoping neither Kitty nor Kurt had noticed the beginnings of tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes, or the way her voice had cracked somewhere in the middle of her short monologue.

"Vhy is she alvays so pessimistic?" Kurt asked once Rogue was well out of earshot.

"Remember, Kurt, she's realistic, not pessimistic." Kitty deadpanned.

* * *

Talia held her elbows in her hands as she leaned over the glass counter of Bob's Music Emporium. She had no clue why it was named after a Bob. No one who worked there, at least in the managerial field, was named Bob. None of the mangers had any children or fathers or any relatives named Bob, or Robert, or Robbie, or any name that could conceivably be shortened to Bob. Talia had long determined that Bob had never existed, and that he was a figment of someone's imagination. At one point, after she had been working for roughly five months, Talia had questioned everyone she could about the origin of the name Bob. She had come up with no answers, although there were quite a few interesting theories. Her favorite was the one that involved aliens. It was a nagging question that came back to haunt her thoughts whenever business was slow, which it was on that particular day. Since her shift had started at three o'clock, there had been a grand sum of four customers, two of whom actually made a purchase. Her supervisor for the day, Terry, had given her busywork, but by six, even that well had run dry. Talia glanced over her shoulder into the office, where Terry was busy with a PSP, audibly losing to some unnamed game. Talia, who owned no such portable gaming device, had busied herself counting ceiling tiles, at least until the bell that hung over the entrance chimed, snapping Talia's eyes toward that direction.

"Jeanette? What are you doing here?" Jeanette grinned a wide, lazy grin with heavy-lidded eyes.

"What? I can't visit my favorite counter jockey?" Jeanette giggled at nothing in particular as she slumped backwards onto the counter, propping herself up using her elbows. Tj rolled her eyes before responding.

"Ugh, it's been so slow today. We've had, like, four people in here," As a sort of impromptu exclamation mark to that statement, a loud curse emanated from the manger's office. Jeanette quirked an eyebrow. "Terry's into some videogame."

"Cool dude, that means you can take a lunch break."

"It's six-thirty."

"Ok, dinner break. Tj, come on, I'm hungry, you're hungry, food is calling us." Jeanette ended this with a dramatic wave of a hand, pushing herself off of the glass countertop and performing an odd, short dance.

"Alright, let me just tell Terry I'm going out." The manager's office did not have a door to speak of, and, as far as Tj knew, it never had. The empty hinges were still screwed into the wall, covered with layer after layer of paint by past employees too uninterested to remove the metal hinges. Tj leaned into the room, one hand on each side of the doorjamb.

"Hey, Terry, you mind if I take a dinner break?"

"Yea, be back in a half-hour." Terry commanded, a toothpick lazily hanging out of the left corner of his mouth. Talia quickly spun on her heels, walking around the counter to join Jeanette as they both exited the store.

Bob's Music Emporium was located down a side street, a side street not well known to every tourist who entered the city. As such, the shops catered much more towards dedicated locals rather than every random person who wandered in for two weeks vacation.

"So how's work been?"

"Slow. You were about the fourth person in the store today," Tj said, relieved to finally have someone with which to hold a conversation. "Anything interesting happen while I've been at work?"

"Eh, not a whole lot. I picked up an eighth from my guy about an hour ago. That's about it. You going to stop by after work?"

"Of course. If I go home, all I'm going to hear about is how I'm wasting my life not going to college." Jeanette dug through the front pockets of her oversized hoodie, finally producing a crumpled soft pack of Camel lights.

"Dude, you should just move out. You could probably make enough for rent where you're working, you know, if you switched over to full time." Jeanette lit the cigarette with a cheap gas station lighter.

"I've been considering it, believe me," Tj muttered. It was at this time at which they passed an open-air bar, an open air bar where a group of four young men, none older than 23 and the youngest at twenty-one, happened to be taking in a few beers. As Tj and Jeanette walked by, one of the men, the apparent dominant man, nudged the closest of his friends with his elbow and pointed two fingers toward the pair of girls crossing the males' field of vision. Throwing a handful of bills on the table, the men hopped the plastic chains separating the restaurant area from the general sidewalk, following Tj and Jeanette and making catcalls. "Oh joy. The moron brigade is out early tonight."

"Dude, just ignore them. We were talking about you moving out of the 'rents house."

"Yea. The thing is, I love my mom and dad, no doubt. I'm just getting tired of all this pressure to get to college right away." It was at this moment that the dominant male of the group ended the catcalls.

"Goddamn, I was told this damn town was mutie free!" The man shouted loudly. Tj's shoulders rose, and the anger became visible in her eyes, but Jeanette put a hand on Tj's shoulder.

"Dude, just ignore those idiots."

"Easy for you to say, they're not throwing the slurs at you," Tj hissed as the man readied another insult, apparently irritated with the girls' lack of response.

"What is this, a dyke convention? We got a dyke, _and _a dyke mutie! Would ya look at that! You girls gonna give us a show?" The men began hooting and hollering among themselves, clearly amused with themselves. Jeanette motioned for Tj to move, a silent request Tj was more than willing to acquiesce to. Before the girls could move, one of the men began approaching the two.

"Hey goddamnnit! We asked you a fucking question, and now we want a fucking answer!" This one was drunk, and there was no other way to put it. He wasn't to the point of vomiting, but his speech was slurred and his steps were sloppy and clumsy, the effects of intoxication clear. Still, he approached the girls fast, and that was when Tj's anger erupted into action. Outstretching her arm with the palm of her hand facing towards the approaching man, Talia let loose with one of her mutant powers. A bright light formed in the empty air, within the invisible triangle formed by her two fingers and thumb.

For an instant, nothing happened. Birds chirped in the background, small finches that lived off of food scraps. There was a gentle spring breeze.

Then, a loud cacophony filled the air, milliseconds short but deafening. The earsplitting noise was accompanied by a bright flash and a sudden change in the position of the man who had been approaching Tj and Jeanette. Instead of being a foot and a half from them, he was now laying in the gutter over five feet away, clutching his chest and gasping in pain. He would later describe the pain as, "like being kicked in the chest by a bus."

"Holy crap, Tj!" Jeanette screamed.

"What was I supposed to do, wait until he threw the first punch?" Tj yelled. Their conversation was cut short, however, as Tj's luck went from bad to worse. As it was, the clothing shop closest to them had recently fallen victim to a group of young shoplifters. The robbery had been overly simple; the thieves had run in, grabbed what they could carry and ran as fast as they could. The owners, an aging hippie couple, were attempting to describe the culprits at the exact moment that Talia had given the quartet of drunken males a quick demonstration of her powers.

"Stop right there, mutant!" Both cops had drawn their weapons, the muzzles of their nine-millimeters set firmly on Talia. She turned quickly, her yellow eyes wide with fear. No one dared move, and even the man in the gutter stopped moaning in pain and focused on the police. The younger of the two, a blond man not a day over twenty-two, roughly grasped Tj's wrists, holding them in place behind her back with a pair of plastic riot cuffs. Tj put up no resistance, less because of a respect for law enforcement and more because of a numb shock from the events of the past thirty seconds.

"You're under arrest for assaulting a civilian. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can be held against you in a court of law-"

"What the fuck are you doing?! She was just defending herself!" Jeanette screamed as the young cop continued mirandizing Talia.

"Ma'am, I would suggest you move along now, unless you want to be taken in as an accessory." The elder cop stood with much more confidence than his partner, which was no surprise given the age gap between the two.

"Fuck you, I'm not going anywhere, pig," Jeanette spat. "You're arresting her when you should be arresting those assholes that were following us!" Her words were tough, but her voice was clearly teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown.

"You've got two choices; either leave now or you're under arrest. I'm going to give you thirty seconds." The cop's voice was the complete antithesis of Jeanette's, calm and measured replacing stressed and wild.

"Jeanette, just call my parents and tell them what happened!" Her arms were held sharply behind her back, both by the plastic cuffs and the young cop. He made nervous eye contact with his partner, who merely nodded and jerked his thumb toward the parking lot. The young cop nodded, and with a forceful twist, began leading Tj out to the parked cruiser before she could say anything else to her friend. Jeanette gave the cop one last look of all the hatred she could muster before running past him, ditching the cigarette that had begun to burn her fingers. She ran as fast as she could, the pale rubber soles of her canvas Vans smacking the concrete like a jackhammer. She ran until her entire right side was screaming in pain, until she was far from the cops, the hippie store, the drunk men, all of it. She ran until the tears she was choking back would hold no more, and her cheeks streamed and burned with thick, wet tears. Taking deep, greedy breaths of air, she lay against the nearest wall, shrinking down to the ground and brining her knees to her chin. She waited until her breathing had evened out and until the tears were nothing more than damp streaks of eyeliner before slowly bringing herself to her feet, bracing herself on the worn brick wall behind her. She fished around in the pockets of her khakis, produced a small silver phone and hit a speed-dial number.

"Hello, Royce residence?"

"Hey, Mrs. Royce, this is Jeanette…"

* * *

"These are your communicators. They'll keep you in contact with the team at all times, regardless of distance. Also, they allow us to find you anywhere on the planet. Trust me, they're useful," Scott held out two thin black electronic devices towards Remy and Piotr, who both took them with little hesitation. "Do either of you have any questions?" Both shook their heads no, and Scott was thankful for that. His thoughts were preoccupied with Jean's outburst. He had not seen her since she had stormed out of his bedroom, although that wasn't for a lack of searching. Scott had checked every logical place Jean might have gone, and when that had failed to yield any results, hew had checked the unlikely places. He had asked every person he came across if they had seen Jean, and each one of them had given the same answer, a negative one. Scott turned towards the jet…

…and there was Jean. Scott should've been happy, or at least relieved she hadn't run off. Instead, the emotion he most strongly felt was fear. Not the type of fear one felt in a haunted house or a scary movie, the type of fear that came on strong and left fast. The type of fear he felt at that moment was the kind that began in the pit of your stomach and crept out slowly. This was the kind of fear that teased you from the back of your thoughts, telling you that nothing was right and that it never would be again. He almost didn't recognize the woman standing on the ramp leading towards into the plane. She didn't stand on the ground; she floated an inch above it. Her hair blew wildly about her head, but that was hardly noticed by Scott. The fire was back in her eyes. She was still a great distance from him, but he knew the flash he saw was the same fire that had been in her eyes back at the parking lot in Pennsylvania. Try though he might, Scott would never forget those eyes. He took a step, but he was stopped by a telepathic message.

_**Scott, I need to talk to you, but I do not wish to do it here. I will meet you in the hallway.**_

Scott dutifully complied, hoping the discussion would at least partially entail what was happening with Jean's powers. Scott winced to himself as his brain dredged up the memory of when Jean temporarily lost control of her powers. He crossed his fingers, hoping this would not be a repeat of that incident.

"Scott?" Jean startled him out of his thoughts.

"Jean, I-"

"Soctt, about earlier, I want to discuss this with you. I want to assure you that I am under no harm," Jean said to Scott in a hypnotic monotone, an airy breathy voice that could have been described as disembodied had Jean not been right there. It was so unlike her that all Scott could do was nod. "Good. I need you to close your eyes and relax." Scott closed his eyes, and tried to push away a thought he had never had before. For the first time since he had met her, Scott was questioning whether or not he could trust Jean. He ignored the thought, pushing it and everything else from conscious thought. Her hand gently grasped his, and he intertwined his fingers with hers. To any passers-by, it merely looked like the two were sharing a moment, but inside Scott's head, it felt like someone else was climbing inside his mind. It wasn't painful, at least not painful in the physical sense. It was instead like his skin was all at once too small for the soul inside. Beads of sweat blossomed on his forehead. He tried to ask Jean what she was doing, but his mouth wouldn't work. It was full with cotton, and his tongue was a piece of dead weight against the left side of his teeth. He could barely breathe, every nerve ending in his body began shouting at once in pain, and there was a burning behind his eyes like he had never felt before. His brain was ablaze, and pain was the only thing he could focus on…

"Scott." With that one simple call of his name, everything washed away. Scott slowly opened his eyes, not knowing what to see but feeling complete relief when he saw he was still in same hallway he had been when he had shut his eyes. _ Wait, why would I have left?_ "I am sorry, Scott. I did not think that would hurt you."

"What…What did you do?"

"I joined our psychic forces. Now, we will each know what the other one is feeling. Any emotion, happiness, sadness, anger, anything. Now you will know if I am ever in danger. Think of it as a marriage of our thoughts." That last part brought a smile to Scott's face.

"Jean, that's amazing. How did you learn that?"

"It is the least of what I can do. Watch this." Jean grabbed the sides of Scott's glasses and pulled them off before he was able to stop her. He instinctively shut his eyes as fast and as hard as he could.

"Jean, what are you doing? I could hurt someone! I could hurt you!"

"Scott," Jean began, grasping him by the shoulders. "Open your eyes. Feel my thoughts. You will not hurt me." Jean held him still in front of her. Gingerly, Scott eased open one eyelid. He could feel Jean's presence inside him, reassuring him. He let his eyes open, and all at once he was in silent awe. He could see, not through a layer of ruby quartz, but instead he was really seeing everything. Staring at him, though, was Jean.

"I am holding the beams back using telekinesis." Jean did not have to explain further, as Scott enveloped her mouth in a deep kiss. All the power being held back in his eyes was letting itself out through that one passionate act. Jean did not allow herself to hold back, either, matching the emotion Scott was feeding into the kiss. The pair separated, breathless, and Jean replaced the glasses over Scott's eyes.

"You can really do that? You can really hold my powers back with yours?" Jean kissed him on the cheek.

"For you, I can do anything."

"Jean, I'm sorry about earlier. I just get worried sometimes. There's something I want to do when we get back, though. How about dinner someplace nice?" Scott asked, thinking about the engagement ring hidden in his bedside table.

"It sounds fantastic. We need to get going, however. Logan has finished preparing the jet for takeoff." With their hands still entwined, Jean led Scott out of the hallway and into the hanger. Scott was content for the time, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

The fake rock lifted, and the Blackbird roared out of the face of the cliff and into the sky. Outside the gates of the mansion, a pair of eyes that had long before been robbed of sight stared out from the back seat of a car, seeing the plane in the mind behind the eyes.

"Raven, they just left the mansion in jet." The woman said into the mouthpiece of the cellular phone.

"Thank you, Irene. Were you able to intercept their ETA?"

"Of course, the bug works like a dream."

"For the price I paid, it damn well better work. Mind telling me how long they're planning to take?"

"Two hours."

"Fantastic, Irene. I can't tell you how pleased I am at how this has worked out. It was only a matter of time before Xavier's curiosity overcame his desire for secrecy."

"Raven, I'm leaving Bayville tonight. Something bad is about to happen, and I don't want to be here when it does."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to Mississippi for a while. Call me when everything's over."

"Of course, Irene."

"And Raven? Please be careful; I have terrible visions about this. I see you in great danger."

"Irene, I plan to be long gone before the X-men even touch down on California soil. You have nothing to worry about." Irene sighed.

"I hope you're right, Raven. Call me soon."

"I'll be sure to, Irene," The phone blinked _Call Ended_, and a blue hand snapped the clamshell phone shut. Then, to herself; "Hold on honey. Your mother will be there soon."

* * *

Author's Note: I don't own these characters, the show, or this website, so I'm making no money off of this. I do, however, own a copy of X-Men #200 and Queens of the Stone Age's new album. They're both sweet. Other than that, I'm going to try to get Chapter six up soon, but as always, I make no promises. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, please review and let me know. 


	6. Chapter 6

A large Sports Utility Vehicle barreled down the one lane back roads at speeds usually only seen by the old moonshine runners that had set up the roads. Behind the wheel, Raven Darkholme snarled as her foot smashed down even harder than before on the gas pedal, and the knuckles of her blue fingers turned a frightful purple from the iron grip on the steering wheel.

* * *

The evening news blared out of the community room television, loudly announcing heralds of war, robberies, drive-bys, and whatever else could possibly be communicated in a sensationalistic thirty-second sound bite. The sound was loud, so loud in fact that one could easily wonder why the television was not moving about inside the opulent oak cabinet. The rest of the room was decorated similarly, with a large oriental rug spread across the floor and beautiful oil paintings dotting the wall. The room itself was empty, save for one person sprawled across the couch. She wasn't paying any attention to the news, though, however loud it might have been. Wanda wasn't truly concentrating on anything, just staring up at the darkened ceiling, the blinking, flickering tube of the television her only light. She was transfixed by the dancing, flickering patterns projected onto the high stucco ceiling. The eggshell-white material made the perfect surface upon which to project, greens and blues and reds and all other colors intermingling. She let her mind wander, exploring thoughts that were disturbing, curious, joyful, and all things in between. All in an instant, however, she became aware of someone standing behind her, and jumped up quickly, her hands suddenly surrounded by an electric-blue light. All thoughts left her mind except those concerning survival, and the would-be sneak jumped backward into a wall, shielding his face with his forearms. 

"Who are you," Wanda demanded. "And why are you creeping around?" She held her arms at her sides, but her stance was still an attack position.

"Ah…Ah was jus comin down ta get a drink. Mah name's Sam. Uh, Sam Guthrie." The teenager stammered out through the space between his left and right forearms. The glare of the television hit him head on, giving his skin a pale, deathly glow. Wanda stared him down for another several seconds, either judging the truth of his words or simply because she was relishing in his fear. Given Wanda's personality, it was impossible to tell which one was true. However, she abandoned her attack position and the blue glow diminished from her hands. At roughly the same moment, Sam let his arms fall to his sides, but unable to move, the dregs of his fear locking his legs to the floor. Wanda slumped back onto the couch and switched the channel from the news to an old black and white movie.

"Well? Are you going to get a drink, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me all night?!" Wanda demanded. That broke the spell, and Sam scrambled, first to the left, then to his right, and finally, Sam tripped over his own feet, falling to the oriental carpet in a pile of limbs. Wanda shifted her blue eyes between the movie playing on the television and Sam's crumpled form three times before letting out an annoyed groan and walking over, extending a hand which Sam gladly took. She pulled hard, hard enough that, for all of a fleeting second, Sam wondered if she was helping him up from the floor or attempting to separate his arm from his chest. Those thoughts turned to mental dust once he was back on his feet, however unsteady they might be.

"Thanks, Wanda. Ah'm not usually that clumsy. Ah guess Ah'm jus tired or something. It's pretty dark in here and all."

"_I_ like the dark." Wanda stated, clearly challenging Sam as she clomped back to the couch, collapsing back upon the coffee-colored leather.

"Oh, Ah didn't meahn anythin' by that, Ah was, um, ya know, just makin an observation," Sam paused, shifting his weight from his left to his right foot, then back to the left foot. "Ya know, um, an observation about the room and all."

"Look, just go get a drink," Wanda irritably demanded. "And get me one, too."

"Well, Ah can show ya where the kitchen is," A glare from Wanda sent Sam into another stammering fit. "Ah mean, since yah're new here, Ah figured Ah could help ya out. Ah mean, this place is kinda big." Sam scratched the back of his head, a nervous habit he had never been able to shake. Wanda glared at him through the dusky haze of the room, the television still blaring in the background like the chorus in a Greek tragedy. Her eyes glinted like daggers for several minutes, minutes in which Sam felt increasingly nervous as to Wanda's intentions. Then, with no reason given on Wanda's part, her features softened slightly and she stood up.

"Fine, just quit babbling so much. It gets on my nerves."

They entered the kitchen in relative silence, with Sam too nervous to say anything and Wanda not one to start any sort of small talk. Ororo was sitting at a small breakfast nook, a table that could fit maybe three people comfortably.

"Sam, what are you doing up? You have school tomorrow, and a training session after that. You need your rest." She cradled a cup of tea with both hands, and a small book lay open on the table immediately in front of her.

"Sorry, Ms. Monroe. Ah jus' came down to get a drink, and Ah ended up runnin into Wanda here, and she wanted a drink, so Ah offered to walk her to the kitchen, and well, that's about right now, Ah guess." He shifted the weight of his lanky six-foot frame as he attempted to avoid Ororo Monroe's gaze.

"That's fine, Sam. Get some water, and then straight back upstairs. I don't want you falling asleep in your first classes." Ororo took a sip from the demitasse cup and turned her attention back to her book.

"Yes Ma'am." Sam plodded over to the kitchen sink and produced two glasses, very similar in design to Collins glasses, from a glass-door cabinet above the sink. He set them both down on the counter to the left of the sink before flicking the handle of the faucet. Clear tap water surged downward, smacking the stainless steel of the sink bottom until Sam stuck the glasses underneath the cascade of water. He handed one of the glasses to Wanda after shutting off the flow of water. She took it with a small, lopsided smile.

"Hehre ya go. Sorry about botherin' ya Ms. Monroe."

"Do not worry about it Sam, just get back to bed," Ororo said, not looking up from her book. Wanda paused, took a sip from the clear glass, and was about to exit through the same swinging door Sam had, when Ororo spoke again. "Wanda, would you like to sit down for a moment?" Her voice was light, and sweet, but behind all that was a great forcefulness in her voice, one that seemed to say that Ororo had all the power in the world but simply could not be bothered to make use of it. Wanda complied with a small noise of complaint, taking the empty oak chair nearest the white-haired mutant, resting her glass of water in front of her on the tabletop.

"So, what do you want?"

"I just felt like talking, Wanda. We didn't get a proper chance to talk when you first came here."

"I still hate blondie." Wanda blurted out. When Ororo focused her gaze upon Wanda, she shifted her gaze downward into her water glass and began fiddling with the Ankh choker fixed tightly around her neck. She twiddled the small silver charm around and around in her fingers as though the proper manipulations would send Ororo's eyes onto something, anything else.

"Wanda, where does all this anger come from?"

"People." Wanda stated with a grimace, the very word putting a foul taste on her tongue. She gave the only other soul in the room a long hard look through jet-black bangs before continuing. "Well? What do you do, if you're so fucking calm all the goddamn time?"

"I'll show you, Wanda," Ororo stated regally, rising from her chair and shutting the book in front of her. "Follow me, and grab some tea if you would like."

"Whatever." Wanda said with a groan as she began to follow Ororo out of the kitchen.

* * *

Kitty tapped her thumb on her knee to the beat of the pop song filtering through her headphones as she tossed a dried apricot into her mouth. The plane banked sharply to the left and Kitty held the portable CD player and an open bag of vegetarian treats close to her abdomen, all the while with Madonna singing about the joys of being a material girl into Kitty ears. They had been in the air close to an hour, and while Kitty outwardly appeared to be doing nothing more productive than absorbing music, she was actually deep in thought, the subject of which happened to be sitting right next to her. 

Rogue.

Kitty studied her best friend intently, trying to figure out the perfect way to open a conversation. Rogue sat facing away from Kitty, facing away from everyone save the two piloting the behemoth. Rogue was cradling her chin with a gloved hand as her emerald green eyes bore into the thick stainless steel wall of the jet they were currently aboard. Kitty fished a hand into the clear plastic baggie, and a figurative light blinked on above her brunette hair. Delicately, she nudged her left elbow into Rogue's side. Rogue stirred, staring blankly into the space directly in front of her before turning to face the source of her interruption. Kitty held the bag open by a single hand, dangling the treats mere inches from Rogue's face.

"You want one?" Kitty garbled out.

"Nawt realleh."

"Well, you want to talk?"

"Nawt realleh." Rogue attempted to turn her attention back to the blank steel wall to her left, but instead felt a thin hand grasp her shoulder, and then she was passing through solid matter. It is not a feeling that is experienced by many, but it is almost universally agreed that the feeling is unpleasant. Rogue felt that "like having your insides thrown into a rusty cement mixer" was an apt description. Once the feeling passed, once Rogue released the death grip she had on her abdomen "Kitty, what tha hell is wrong with ya?," Rogue shouted, ready to strangle her roommate. "Where tha hell ahre weh?"

"Cargo hold."

"And tha reason weh're in tha cahrgo hold?" Rogue asked in the same tone one would use with a nine year old who needs to be walked through a complex math problem.

"Because I wanted to talk to you. Rogue, like, Kurt and I are worried about you." Kitty paused, knowing full well how Rogue was going to react.

"Yah two ahre wahrried ahbout meh? Wha? Whaht tha hell ahre yah two got in yahr head thaht yah gotta wahrry ahbout meh?" Rogue demanded, gesturing wildly with her hands.

"Rogue, you just haven't been yourself lately," Rogue scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "Come on, Rogue. I told you about every argument I had with Lance."

"And Ah neva _ahsked_ ta hear ahbout those."

"That's _so _not my point, Rogue. If something's going on, I want to know about it. We're friends, you should be OK discussing stuff that's going on," Kitty said before bowing her head ever so slightly, just enough so that her bangs obscured her eyes from Rogue's. When she rose her head back up, her eyes had filled to the brim with a deep sadness, and her bottom lip was trembling. Rogue's own eyes filled with annoyance mixed with hate, telling Kitty her plan had worked before Rogueeven opened her mouth.

"Yah're puare evil, yah know thaht? No one else at tha instatute bahlieves meh, but yah ahre," Rogue set herself down on the nearest crate, a large square thing colored a gun-metal grey. Kitty opened her mouth to answer these accusations, but Rogue interrupted her, "If Ah tell yah this, yah've gotta promise noht tah tell anyone ahbout this. This doesn't go past meh and you."

"Well, Rogue-"

"No one else, Kitty!" Rogue shouted, startling Kitty.

"Alright, alright, I won't tell anyone. It'll stay down here until you say otherwise. Just tell me what's going on Rogue." Kitty's voice was not pleading, but to describe it as such would not have been an unfair estimation. Rogue cradled her head with both hands, focusing on the non-skid surface beneath her feet. She sighed loudly before pushing the hair away from her forehead with both gloved hands. After studying the unchanging floor for several seconds, thoughts racing through her head so quick she barely had the time to register that one had entered before the next one arrived. She didn't want to tell Kitty about this, she didn't want to tell anyone about it. She knew every word of it would taste like bile on the tip of her tongue, burning every inch of her esophagus from her lungs up to the moment her lips gave the words life.

But still, Kitty was a friend.

"Kitty, yah evea had a gut feelin'? Just something yah're positive is true, even though yah ain't got any proof?"

"Uh, a few times. Why? What are you feeling?" Kitty was almost afraid ask that final question, dreading Rogue's response.

"Ah…Ah've been feelin' lately lahke Ah ain't eva gonna be able tah cahntrol mah skin…yah, know, mah powars."

"What do you mean, Rogue?"

"Look, Ah'm noht expectin yah tah undahstahnd any a this, but, Irene, tha woman Mystique hahired ta watch ova meh, she used tah get these gut feelin's, sometahmes ahbout some horrible plane crash on tha news, sometahmes ahbout tha weather fohr tha next day," Rogue glowered, not so much saying Mystique's name as spitting it out like it was cyanide. Kitty stared at Rogue, unsure of what, if anything, she should say to her friend. Rogue continued, still slouched on a single crate. "Tha point is, she'd get these feelings, and she was neva wrong ahbout them, no matta how strange they sounded. Ahd lately, Ah've got this feelin…Gawd, Kitty, Ah've got this feelin lahke …lahke…" Rogue couldn't let the last of her sentence make itself tangible, and instead collapsed backward onto the wall of the cramped storage space she currently occupied.

"Rogue, please don't say what I think you're going to say!" Kitty exclaimed suddenly, throwing her hands in front of her, as if she could push the thought away from the both of them. Rogue's revelation had been the exact last thing the Illinois-born mutant was expecting. She had expected maybe a complaint concerning Kitty's recent push for Rogue to get out more, or some gripe concerning Kitty's continuing insistence that Rogue felt some form of a romantic pull towards Gambit, something Kitty had maintained quite vocally in the past months.

"Wha noht? Yah're tha one who asked meh what was wrong," Rogue stated, focusing her eyes on Kitty and making no attempt to hide the bile in her voice. "Ahnd thaht's exactly what's been botherin' meh, Kitty. Ah've goht this feelin' lahke death's just around tha corna ahnd Ah haven't been able ta shake it. Ah just goht this feelin lahke Ah ain't goht much longa ta live. Lahke Ah'm gonna die." Rogue leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees but showing no signs of continuing her tale. There was no reason to, now that Rogue had said that dirty little word.

"Rogue, you…you're not going to…you're not going to kill yourself, are you?" Kitty stammered, already scared of what the answer might be.

"What? No! Kitty, Ah ain't suicidal," Rogue shouted, springing up from the metal crate and turning away from her friend. "Ah knew this was a mistake. Look, just fahrget Ah said anything ahbout ahll this," She turned back to face Kitty, who grabbed Rogue in a tight bear hug, keeping a near-unbreakable hold while taking great care to avoid any exposed skin. Rogue struggled against the bonds, bu Kitty held fast, too dedicated or too stubborn to budge an inch. "What…tha…let meh go!" Kitty squeezed even tighter, forcing a short yelp of pain from Rogue. She let go after that, but kept a hand on each of Rogue's shoulders.

"Rogue, I want to promise me you're not going to do anything," Rogue made a disgsted noise at the thought of this, and Kitty shook her before screaming, "Promise me!"

"Kitty, Ah ain't gonna kill mahself. Yah're worried ahbout nothing."

"You're positive?"

"Yes," Rogue exasperatedly gasped. "Ah have no desia tah kill mahself. Kitty, Ah ain't gonna lie tah yah." Kitty focused her eyes on Rogue for another second, then turned away, letting go of Rogue's shoulders. She stood, frozen in place, as Kitty paced back and forth in the cramped space, roughly ten feet long by eight feet wide. There as little room to move, and even less to stand up in, as Rogue noted with some annoyance. Kitty was shorter than Rogue, short enough that she could stand upright in the space with no difficulty. Rogue could stand, but just barely. She was positive that, had there been another hair on her head, it would have been an entirely different matter.

"You're my best friend, Rogue." Kitty said suddenly, no longer pacing.

"What?" Rogue asked, less a question of clarification and more a request for repetition.

"Since I've been here, you know, I think of everyone in the mansion, everyone we knew in high school. Of all of them, you're the person I feel closest to. You're my best friend, Rogue." All of this came out of Kitty's mouth in a rush. There was no rehearsal inside her mind, only thoughts given voice as soon as they took form. She stared at her feet for a long time before facing upwards, looking towards Rogue for approval.

"Kitty, yah're mah best friend, too, no question. Hell, you and Kurt ahre tha onlay ones who didn't treat meh lahke a baby after…" Rogue trailed off. She was discussing a dark moment in her past, one in which she lost almost complete control of her abilities. In the resulting aftermath, most of the students had either treated Rogue with all the joy and playfulness of a cancer patient, or just flat out ignored her completely. As the days and weeks had given birth to months, much of this dissipated, but one thing that hadn't was Rogue's vitriolic bitterness towards it all.

"Rogue, like, we weren't the only ones," said Kitty, her use of the word like indicating that Kitty's usual bubbly attitude was making an attempt to break through, a spot of brightness in a dark conversation. "What about Scott? He visited you a few times."

"Nawt tha way Ah wanted," Rogue stated bitterly, quickly adding, "Ah mean, ahll heh realleh did was drop some homework assaghnments ohff ahnd talk about school once ohr twace. Look, thaht ain't tha point."

"Well, what is your point."

"Mah, point? Mah point is Ah don't want ya mentionin' any ohf this tah anyone." Now it was Rogue's turn to speak in a blurred flow of words.

"You already told me that, Rogue. What you didn't tell me is why?"

"Because Ah'm taired ohf everybody hadlin meh with kid gloves," Rogue shouted, loud enough that Kitty was sure the entire jet could hear. "Everyone looks at meh sideways, lahke Ah'm some sort a psycho killer." Kitty opened her mouth, although to say what was never known, for at that moment Professor Xavier's voice, telepathic but by no means less intense, echoed in both their minds.

_**Kitty, Rogue, we have landed in California. Remember that we are on Pacific Time now, and any time telling devices on your persons need to be set three hours backward. Please join the rest of the team below the jet.**_

* * *

"This is my stress relief, Wanda. Whenever the pressures and troubles of the school, the students, or sometimes just life in general become too much for me to bear, I come out here," Wanda and Ororo were standing just inside an expansive greenhouse behind the institute. It was not its size, however, that could take one's breath away. Rather, it was the vast array of vegetation, plants of every size and color from all corners of the globe. Wanda was thankful she was wearing a T-shirt in place of her usual outfit, an outfit which consisted of a heavy scarlet overcoat. It was not the temperature, however, but the humidity of which Wanda felt the effects. She turned to Ororo to say something, but if the older mutant was affected by the humidity as well, she displayed no outward signs thereof. "I come out here, and I spend time with my plants. Sometimes I am only out here for a brief minute, and other times for entire days." Ororo slowly walked over to an elevated wooden box, brushing the purple petal of a flower growing tall out of the dirt. Wanda watched this with both confusion and envy. It was silent, save for the low hum of a few spare lights. Visibility was hampered further by the plants themselves, many stretching towards the roof on thick stalks.

"That's it," Wanda finally asked, exasperated with the scene before her. "This is your big solution to stress?" Ororo answered without so much as the most cursory of glances back towards the teenager.

"Yes it is, Wanda. They may look like simple plants, but these are living breathing creatures. So many people these days fail to see that. It's sad, really," and Ororo began to walk further into the twisting maze of the greenhouse. "Follow me." Wanda complied, noting to herself that, no matter how ridiculous Ororo's words sounded to her, she indeed seemed at peace out here. She trudged several feet behind the statuesque African woman, brushing past dangling leaves and fragrant flowers. Her heavy black boots sunk slightly into the soft, moist ground as she wound around raised planters and small trees, until the two reached what Wanda only assumed was the back of the greenhouse. Ororo gestured towards an empty planter flush with the glass and steel wall. Surrounded on either side by planter bustling with full, lush greenery, this lone planter looked all the more small and neglected.

"So…I come out here and take care of your plants with you?"

"Not exactly. I feel that you could benefit from having a small place to come and collect your thoughts, Wanda. In this planter, you can grow anything you like. However, these plants will be entirely your responsibility. It will be up to you to see that these plants get watered, that they are taken proper care of."

"Anything I like," Wanda questioned, staring at the empty dirt for a moment before turning back. "Even Tiger Lilies?" Ororo smiled.

"There's a nursery just outside of the city. I can take you there tomorrow once the children have been seen off to school."

"Wait, wait a minute-You're going to take me to a nursery, give me a place to grow stuff, and I can grow whatever I want, right? And you're just doing all of this out the kindness of your heart?"

"That's right."

"Well, what do you want out of it?"

"I don't want anything, Wanda, beyond seeing you find a better karmic place," Ororo paused, and she delicately placed a single hand on the edge of the planter. "And, you remind me of a student we once had here, a student I was very close to."

"Somebody like me? In the Brady Bunch of mutants?"

"Wanda, despite your beliefs about us, I can assure you we are not the, 'Brady Bunch of Mutants.' We have disagreements, just like anyone else. This boy, he was angry, just like you. He had a temper that could start a fire, and he was so stubborn," Ororo laughed a wistful laugh. "If he set his mind to something, the Gods themselves couldn't tell him different."

"So where is he now?"

"I…I don't know. He left this place in order to forge a team with another band of mutants, and I've only seen him once since then. I miss him everyday." Ororo's voice cracked and it was apparent to Wanda that the woman was holding back tears. She felt guilty for making her dredge up the memories, and she began to play with the hem of her T-shirt, suddenly very aware that she had caught this woman in an unguarded moment.

"I'm sorry." Unsure of what to say, Wanda uttered the first thing to enter her consciousness.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Wanda," Ororo sighed. "It's getting late, almost midnight. Mornings in this mansion can be very hectic; we should both get our rest."

* * *

After being placed under arrest, Talia felt as though the day was simply one humiliation after another. The entire ride to the police station, she was not only handcuffed but locked to the seat. Standard procedure for violent criminals, the officers had told her, we treat everyone like this. It was a claim that would have had much more veracity had the cops not been making mutant jokes the entire drive to the station. They were quiet, making an attempt to disguise their discussion, but Talia could make out enough. She also noted that the younger cop, the one driving, made several attempts to change the subject, all of which were absolutely ignored by the older cop riding shotgun. The younger offier was making an attempt to look good in the older officer's eyes, and Talia gave him some leeway on that. Still, their biased discussion made the car rdie all the more unbearable. Her heart had beaten against the inside of her ribcage violently, and her breathing was ragged, a condition not improved by the tears she was choking back. No matter how much the back of her eyes burned, she was determined not to cry in front of these cops. She saw that as the final humiliation these cops were looking for, and she was determined not to give it to them. So when the squad car finally arrived at the station, Talia put on the bravest face she could, and kept it plastered on firmly when she was not so much removed from the backseat but rather dragged out with more force than necessary. She put up no resistance and offered no words of protest. She offered them nothing, uttering not so much as even the quietest pleas. 

She kept her face firm when her mugshot was taken, despite the lewd comments courtesy of the police photographer. They cataloged her belongings, everything, including the loose mints that had been floating at the bottom of her purse for years. Afterwards, all of her information was taken down, she was cataloged the same as the mints, and for the first time, Talia realized that, legitimate or not, she was going to have a criminal record. It was a painful, stinging realization, but Talia still managed to keep the tears back, and it was at this point that her throat began to burn. After her personal information was catalogued, it was time for her to be fingerprinted. Her thumbprints transferred just fine, along with her two fingers, but standard fingerprinting sheets were designed with five-fingered hands in mind, not three. The final breaking point came when the arresting officer loudly asked any fellow officers within earshot how to deal with someone with less than five fingers, although he did not phrase it in such kind terms. It was a question designed to humiliate, and it succeeded absolutely. Her head fell, and the tears came, slow at first with one or two trickling down her cheeks. They quickly became a flood, and within a minute's time Talia's entire frame was shaking she sobbed quietly. The arresting officer, and anyone else nearby, wisely chose to give the girl a few moments of both peace and space.

After she regained a modicum of composure, Talia was informed that she would be placed in a holding cell. The handcuffs were firmly placed around her wrists for a second time, and she was led down a concrete staircase into the basement. The bars were high, higher than Talia had expected, but it was the interior of the cell that gave Talia fright. The concrete room reeked of urine and sweat, and she wondered momentarily of the cop seated at the desk outside the cell stood the stench.

"Hey, is that Talia Josephine Royce?" The cop seated behind the desk asked after laying his desk phone back on its cradle.

"Yea, assault by a mutant on a human. Why?"

"Don't bother tossin' her in the cell. Bond's already been posted."

Already posted? What the hell, I just put her in system two minutes ago." The guard behind the desk took a sip of coffee from a white Styrofoam cup, steam visibly curling up from the dark brown liquid from the moment he picked it up until he placed back on the worn wooden surface dotted with nicks, scrapes and water rings.

"Hey, don't lecture me. Desk clerk just phoned down here, says this girls mother's been raising hell damn near twenty minutes, shouting and raving. Paid in full the minute the girl went in the system. Desk clerk told me to get the girl up there as soon as I could." The cop standing behind Talia looked down at her.

"Well how about that. You got lucky mutie." Any other time, and Talia would have protested the use of this particular slur, but the relief she was feeling was too great. Her parents, or at least her mother, had come to the rescue. She'd be angry at first, her mother dealt very poorly with stress. She'd most likely yell and shout for maybe twenty minutes, but then Talia could explain her side of the story; after all, this wasn't the first time she'd been painted as the bad guy simply because she was a mutant. Of course, Talia also considered what the guard had said about her mother screaming and raising hell at the front desk. _That's right, I told Jeannette to call them,_ Talia thought, _She probably explained everything to them. God knows it probably took her an hour, and I'll probably owe Jeannette for the rest of my natural life, but it'll all be worth it if I can get this cleared up._ Talia was doing her best to avoid thinking overly positively, knowing full well that she was in no way completely clear of the situation. However, narrowly avoiding a night inside a jail cell has a funny way of turning one's mood towards a decidedly sunnier outlook. Her thoughts had been turbulent only moments before, now, on the long journey from the basement to the entrance, they were threatening to turn into a full-fledged typhoon.

That typhoon struck at the very moment Talia reached the front desk. She had prepared for many things, a warm embrace, screaming and yelling, even complete stony silence. What she had not prepared for was absence. Her eyes scanned the waiting room once, twice, but no sign of her mother, or her father. No familial relations were anywhere in sight. The only soul that wasn't clad in a blue uniform was a woman, maybe forty but certainly no older than forty-five. Her hair was dark brown and her eyes were the same color, but hidden behind a pair of bifocals. She was dressed professionally in a crisp suit and blouse that would have fit in better on Wall Street than anywhere near a police station. As she caught sight of Talia, this woman let a large, relieved smile cross her face. She approached Talia, and, without a single word of warning, took her a tight hug, embracing her so tight Talia was sure her ribs would crack under the pressure.

"Honey, it's so good to see you. You're not hurt, are you? Tell me you're alright," _Who is this woman? This is not my mother._ Talia thought. Still in a hug, the woman leaned into Talia's ear and whispered, "I know you've never seen me. Trust me, Talia." Talia briefly entertained the notion of telling the police she didn't know this woman, that she was an utter stranger. _But where that put me? Right back in that jail cell, and lightening doesn't strike twice, _Talia mused, using a phrase both her parents used frequently. _Ok, I can throw a bolt at her if she tries anything; I'm not defenseless. I've got the choice of stranger or jail._ A split second decision was required, and Talia made one, wrapping her own arms around this unknown woman and clasping her just as tight. Her audience was several members of the California police department, people with the ability to throw her in jail if they weren't convinced of the performance, and Talia pulled out all the stops to impress them.

"Mom, it's so good to see you," Talia said, conjuring up every shred of acting talent she possessed. An Oscar-worthy performance, in her own opinion. "Thank you so much for getting me out of here. Can we go home?" The woman gave her a sympathetic smile and, while releasing the hug, left her hands placed firmly on Talia's shoulders .

"Of course, dear. My car is just around the corner."

The police had not them go quietly, with numerous reminders not to leave the county, her court appearance would be on the thirtieth, and similar notices. Talia also noted that it had taken close to fifteen minutes for the police to produce her purse. Finally, after what felt to Talia like an eternity, her unknown savior and she were allowed to leave the station. The woman's car was a block away, and the entire walk to the car was shrouded in silence, neither one willing to begin a conversation. The sun had said its goodbyes in Talia's absence, as the sky had turned to an inky black save for the gray-silver half-full moon smack in the middle of the night sky. As they approached a massive black SUV, the mystery woman dug through a small leather purse dangling from her shoulder, unlocking the doors with the simple press of a button. The automotive chirped in compliance, the locks of the front doors popping up. Talia opened the passenger door and climbed in, settling into the soft leather seat. She waited for the mystery woman to settle in, speaking up before she had a chance to start the engine.

"Ok, I don't want sound ungrateful about all this, you know, believe me, really appreciative of the help over here. But, um, who are you?"

With as much energy visibly exerted as it takes to blink, this woman's very physical appearance began to change, much to Talia's complete shock, her jaw falling slack. Her power suit melted away and her bifocals recessed into her skull, all revealing a deep blue skin highly similar to Talia's own. Her short brown hair descended and changed to a bright, vibrant red. Finally, her eyes morphed, going from brown to cat-like yellow. Talia watched all this whle back away, moving closer and closer to the door until the handrest dug sharply into the small of her back and her hair was flush with the window. Her brain yelled, screamed, at her arm to reach behind her, unlock the door, and run like Hermes. Her arm, just simply would not respond, instead holding her weight up upon the seat and doing little else. She brought her knees onto the seat, drawing them to her chest quickly, using them as a makeshift shield. The woman, however, seemed unconcerned with this sudden transformation, turning to Talia with a small but genuine smile. "I'm your mother, honey. Your _real _ mother."

* * *

Author's note: Ok, this chapter took much longer than I had anticipated, and things don't look good for the next one. I'm moving into a new apartment, classes start in roughly a week, and I'm sure there are about twelve other things I've completely forgotten about. However, I make the promise here and now that this story will be seen through to the end. So, please enjoy, and leave a review.  



	7. Chapter 7

"You-you're my mother?" Talia managed to squeak out after several minutes of stunned silence. The revelation hit her like a gut shot, knocking the air straight out of her lungs. Talia was still pressed against the car window, her petite frame curled onto the car seat and the tip of her tail clasped in one hand. She drew her index finger across the point repetitively, burying herself as far from this strange woman…_Wait, this strange woman? Should I call her mom? Mother? Is this woman even my mother? She does look like me, a lot. A whole lot. But she just transformed from Ms. Wall Street into…well, this! She could be some weird government agent. She could be an evil mad scientist. She could be Scanner! Alright, maybe not that, but, I mean, this is someone who left me on a doorstep. Does she have a reason for that or-_

"Yes, and you have no idea how long I've waited to say that to you Talia." The woman responded, pulling Talia firmly out of her thoughts, at least for the moment.

"Um, thank you?" She looked up at this woman through a thin curtain of black hair, afraid to meet her gaze.

"I realize that you're probably angry with me, I want you to know that right now. You have every right in the world to be angry with me. But there are others, Talia, others who want you dead.The woman replied with a mixture of sorrow and nostalgia. The woman pushed the key into the ignition once more, this time bringing the truck to life, its headlights shining brightly in front of the car and the dashboard glowing green. She checked the rearview mirror and both side mirrors several times before allowing herself to transform once more. Glasses that looked as real as anything were born from this woman's face with a whim, and her short red hair suddenly grew length and darkened. The short black halter top dissipated, being replaced by a stockholder's power suit. Talia felt much less fright than last time, instead watching the entire show with a rapt awe. She took special note of this woman's eyes, the way they clouded over before changing completely, turning a dull, rusty gold before finally turning to white sclera with brown irises.

"Why did you leave me in front of that church? Is…that what you're going to tell me?" Two questions that she had not wanted ask, and certainly held no intentions of doing so. It felt like her larynx and mouth had betrayed her, forcing the words out despite her ardent objections. The SUV halted its' course, the engine idling as the monstrous automotive lay half in, half out of the parking space.

"I-I don't want to tell you here. It is a very long story; it can't be told in a car."

"But you're going to tell me?"

"Yes, tonight. I have a room at the Blue Garden Inn."

"Wait, a hotel room? What about my parents?" For the first time since she had hit the brakes, this woman actually looked at Talia, rather than staring out the windshield towards the empty asphalt.

"I have…your adoptive parents, Talia, I didn't even think about it." She let her head hit the steering wheel softly, and behind her fake eyeglasses sad brown eyes closed.

"Well, I want them to know I'm alright, I was arrested, and they know that. They're probably looking for me right now, and, you know…" There was a small part of Talia that became increasingly nervous with every passing second, and it was beginning to give itself voice. It was the voice of paranoia. However, another voice felt pity for this woman, this woman who had apparently been scouring the earth looking for her, for who knows how long.

"Of course dear. I'm so sorry, I never even thought about it. I was just so happy that I had finally found you, I wasn't thinking straight." Talia studied this woman, still under the guise of Ms. Wall Street.

"Ok, I guess I can call them from the hotel." Talia Josephine Royce, nineteen years old and a straight-A student since kindergarten, had just conceded to stay with a woman she had known for less than a half-hour. She gave herself mental excuses, such as she was not defenseless, and this woman appeared to wish her no ill will. However, in her heart of hearts, there was only one reason Talia did not get out of that car and head straight for her house, only one reason in the entirety of the cosmos that she settled into the soft leather seat and wrapped the nylon seatbelt around her waist. Ever since Talia had been old enough to have rational thought, she had desired, more than anything, to know why she had been left on a doorstep, and she was willing to risk her own life in the hopes of finding that reason.

* * *

"Alright folks, story goes like this. We're lookin' for Nightcrawler's sister. All we've got is a name and a baby picture, so it ain't gonna be easy," Logan scanned the small crown gathered around him as he began his speech. The entrance ramp to the jet was still lowered, sinking an inch or two into the soft ground below. They had landed just outside of the city in the thick growth of the forest, preferring not to rely solely on the darkness which now blanketed the sky above. His eye caught Piotr first, although that was almost completely because of height. The young man stood ramrod straight, like someone had attached a string to the crown of his skull and simply yanked upwards. He next caught Remy, as tall as Piotr give or take a few inches, but one would almost never guess from the way he slouched against one of the support poles for the ramp, his posture as relaxed and unconcerned as Piotr's was militant and attentive. He made a mental note of where the two stood before continuing his speech. "And Mystique ain't gonna make it any easier for us. Now, a lot of us here have tangled with her before, so you know what to expect. And for those of you that ain't met her yet, watch yourselves. Mystique will exploit any weakness she can find, so I'll repeat: Watch yourselves. Now, this is a big city, so we're gonna split up into-

"That is unnecessary." Logan turned his attention towards the voice, and found himself momentarily stunned when he saw it was Jean. He was even more shocked when he saw something in her eyes, something that you could only recognize if you yourself had felt its touch and suffered its hideous consequences. He saw animal instinct, not the human reptilian brain, but raw, pure animal instinct, the type of instinct that only knew fight or flight. Logan knew that instinct intimately, and to see it in the eyes of someone so young filled him with a dreadful surprise. He shook it off quickly, hoping no one had noticed his momentary lapse.

"How's that, red?"

"It is unnecessary to form a search party. I have located the person we seek."

"Jean, where is she?" Professor Xavier calmly questioned. If he was concerned at all about this sudden jump in ability, he did not show it.

"She is in an unmoving automotive. The last location I can pinpoint for her is a local Police Station."

"A police station…Hmm…If this girl, Talia, used her powers in public, it would make sense that she was arrested. That would explain why she only appeared on Cerebro briefly. Jean, are you positive that this is the girl?"

"I am certain, as well as insulted that you must ask. Her mind is confused, but this is the Talia Josephine we seek," She paused to take a breath. "I wish to have a moment of solitude." Jean sated flatly before walking several paces away from the jet, sitting down on a large rock with her back towards the group. Everyone's eyes watched this with little understanding of what it meant, or even if this was their friend. Logan was the first to break through the bewildered fog that had settled over the group.

"What the hell was that?" It may have lacked an abundance of eloquence, but he certainly spoke for the entire group.

"I am not sure, but I've already asked Hank to search local police radios for any descriptions of Talia. Kitty, I'd like you to assist Dr. McCoy," Kitty shook her head in acknowledgement before rising on air and disappearing through the solid titanium that made up the body of the jet. Possessing the power to become intangible came with more fringe benefits than one would at first believe. "As for the rest of you, do not wander too far and stay sharp. The information we need could come at any moment." The small group hardly dispersed from the area, still confused about the display they had just witnessed.

* * *

Inside the jet, Kitty's soft footsteps produced quiet whispers as she quickly made her way across the jet in the direction of Henry McCoy, whose hulking blue form was hunched over blinking computer screens, their bright glow the only things visible. It gave him an ominous, mad scientist image, and Kitty gently approached him, lightly tapping him on the shoulder.

"Ah, Katherine. Charles informed me he would be sending you up here to assist me."

"Yea, well, I'm not, like, sure what I can do to help."

"Nonsense. There's plenty you can do to help. If nothing else, you're keeping me company." At this, Kitty gave a smile.

"Yea. Hey, what are you doing there?" Kitty asked, pointing towards one of the computer screens. This particular screen had text speeding across the screen with barely a moment to consider anything written.

"This? I'm scanning all logged police reports for any descriptions matching that of Nightcrawler's sister. Specifically, I've entered in a rough physical description, and I am currently scanning every file, quarantining any that match the keywords."

"Wow, is that legal?"

"Only for elected officals."

"Hey, Dr. McCoy, Can I ask you a question?"

"More sarcastic folk than I would point out that you just did. How may I be of service, Miss Pryde?"

"Well, I was, like, wondering what you knew about telling the future?"

"Precognition? People have debated it for centuries, whether or not it actually exists, benefits, curses. Kings have been crowned and empires have been vanquished in the name of the future. A few times, I've often wondered how life would have been had I possessed such a talent. It's quite an expansive area; is there any way you could narrow your quandary?"

"Well, how good are you at keeping secrets? I mean, this is really something that can't get out, but you've got, like, a hundred doctorates so if anyone can help, I think you can."

"My dear, I've found living in a school requires secrets as nothing more than a part of daily life. What seems to be troubling you?" Some might have seen Henry's slightly jovial nature as a sign he wasn't taking Kitty seriously, however, Kitty saw this in a different light. She thought of Logan, wrapped up in tortures performed on him by unseen hands, and of the Professor, who was the thumb in a dam that threatened to burst forth with hate and murder at any moment. In contrast, Henry's light-hearted words were a comfort.

"Well, it's like this I've got a friend, and she's talking about getting visions of the future. I mean, not like visions like a hallucination, but she's got a gut feeling that, like, something's going to happen to her. Something bad."

"A vision of death?"

"She didn't come out and say that, but yea, that's the general point." Henry rubbed the thick tuft of a goatee growing down from his wide face. He eyed Kitty thoughtfully for several minutes, wanting to phrase his answer as best as possible.

"Well, from time to time humans have shown the ability to foretell events, and I know of one or two mutants with some power of precognition, with a few others rumored but unconfirmed. Is your friend a mutant?"

"Yea. Yea, she is, but she doesn't live at the institute. She's a pen pal of mine." Kitty hoped the explanation she'd just birthed from nothingness would hold weight.

"Well, I don't suppose she is a seer," Henry trailed off momentarily as Kitty shook her head NO. Henry nodded before continuing, "Well, since that's out, how seriously is she talking about this? Could she possibly do harm to herself?"

"No! I mean, no, she wouldn't-I mean she couldn't."

"Ok, well, is she under a lot of stress?"

"Yea, pretty much all the time…wait, stress could cause that?"

"Katherine, you would be amazed what stress can do to the carbon-based body. The list is almost endless.

"Wait, would that explain why Jean is acting so weird? You know, just stress at college," Henry's expression changed, and he grimaced for several seconds before finally granting a slight, uneasy nod in the affirmative.

"I heard what happened outside; Charles gave me the details. I can't say for certain that it is stress, or possibly something else."_Lying to the students…Henry, are you no better than Charles?_ Any further internal monologue on Henry's part was forgotten with the help of a series of loud beeps from the computer monitor, signaling that the long search through the police database was finally through. Hank let out a loud exhale, momentarily forgetting that Kitty was still in direct presence.

"I don't believe it…Jean was right," Henry exclaimed as he depressed a single button on the keyboard in front of him, a printer whirring to life. "Everything she said, it-it's here."

"That's good," Kitty said, her voice full of perkiness. After a full minute, her smile fell. "It _is_ good, isn't it?" Henry stood up, the metal chair spinning.

"Let's just get out to the rest of the team right now."

* * *

"Jean was right, Charles. I found a record of a Talia Josephine Royce in the police records. Blue skin, tail, five-foot-four; she was arrested today for assault."

"Henry, did you get an address?" Henry waved a single piece of paper grasped in his left hand.

"Charles, how you underestimate me. Not only do I have the address, but I know how to get there. We are actually within a mile of the station where she is being held."

"That is fortuitous. Still, we shouldn't waste any time." The X-men began trudging behind Scott, going from Scott Summers to Cyclops in record time. Henry and the Professor, however, lagged behind, neither moving from the spot of dirt just beyond the edge of the exit ramp.

"Still feel confident sending teenagers off to fight your battles, Charles?"

"I notice you didn't feel it necessary to mention any of it to them. It's easy to pass judgment when it isn't your head beneath the guillotine." Charles turned his face from Henry's, pushing the control stick of his wheelchair forward, however, the wheels simply spun in the dirt. Henry had grabbed the back of the chair.

"Charles, I'm not asking you to place your head beneath anything. Those children trust you with their lives, and you are squandering all of that, all for some twenty year old fight, and then there's Jean-"

"What about Jean, Henry?"

"I've told you time and time again the risk of her powers. What part of 'exponential growth' went by you Charles?"

"What exactly do you suggest, Henry? Would you like me to turn her over to SHIELD? Maybe some of those anti-mutant scientists, I'm sure they'd love to pick through her mind."

"There are OPTIONS! It doesn't have to be the worst possible scenario!" Henry shouted, letting go of Charles' wheelchair just long enough for him to wheel out of Henry's grasp.

"Henry, I vowed many years ago that mutants and humans could live together peacefully. That fight has cost me the use of my legs, among other things dear to me. I will not cripple another so that you may sleep more peacefully at night."

"So that's the end of it, is it?" Charles sighed, staring at the retreating forms of his team rather than Dr. McCoy.

"Mention it again, my friend, and you will no longer be welcome in my home, or on my team. I'm sorry." Charles turned, wheeling towards the fading group as Henry simply stood in the dirt.

* * *

"She's not here? What do you mean she's not here; you're the ones that arrested her!" Catherine slapped her palm on the counter in front of her as a physical exclamation point. She and Walter were standing in the lobby of the police station Talia had been taken to only hours earlier.

"She was arrested by one of our officers, ma'am, but she's no longer here." The officer took another sip from his mug of coffee before glancing back at Catherine. _Quit looking at me like I know something, bitch,_ he thought, taking in the cold steely gaze she had fixed on him._ They parked me in front of this desk and this might be where I'll die. They don't tell me shit._ Brian had been more depressed than usual about his job this night, although the idea of hating his job was not a new concept. _Jesus, first one woman stands in here and shouts until she's blue in the face, now this woman's claiming that she's the mother. And I'm gonna be the one that gets blamed for all this. Fucking great._

"She's no longer here? What the hell does that mean?" Brian lazily punched in a series of keystrokes into the filthy keyboard in front of him, caked with several layers of dust and dried droplets of spilled coffee.

"Bond was posted a half-hour ago by the mother." At saying the last word, Brian internally winced, knowing what was about to come.

"By the mother," Walter shouted. "The mother's right here! You let our daughter out of here with a complete stranger!" Brian opened his mouth to speak, but Catherine cut him off.

"Forget it; don't say another word. Get your commanding officer; I want to speak to him now." Catherine didn't shout, in fact, she did not even raise her voice. Instead she spoke in a low monotone voice that made Brain wish she _was_ yelling. Brain rose from his perch, regarding with one eye several people who had just entered the lobby._Get in line, folks, _Brian thought as he walked in the direction of his CO. _Get in line with every other jerk-off taxpayer who wants a piece of my ass._

"I can't believe this, how in the hell do you lose a person? How in the _hell_ do you lose a person?" Catherine shouted, spitting out both instances of _hell_ with furious venom. Behind her, a small group of people stirred, speaking softly among themselves, before finally an aging gentleman in a wheelchair slowly approached the two parents.

"Excuse me for prying, but would you happen to be the parents of a Talia Josephine?" Walter snorted derisively before answering.

"Not according to these people, we're not."

"Walter, Don't be rude. Who are you?" The man in the wheelchair extended a single hand forward, which Cathie, then Walter both shook in greeting.

"I am Charles Xavier, and I run a school for mutants. I am here-

"Xavier? Of The Xavier Institute in New York?" Charles held a look of shock momentarily.

"So you've heard of it?"

"Yes, we went to see you lecture at UCLA at Berkley. Excuse me for being blunt, but why are you here?" Charles' face took a sour look for a second, and he waved his hand towards his group. Catherine's jaw smacked the filth-ridden linoleum below her feet as a young man stepped out of the crowd, every inch of him a dead ringer for their own daughter. His ever-moving tail, pointed ears, gold eyes, and blue skin, all was just the same as the girl they had raised.

"Guten Tag. My-My name is Kurt Wagner." He spoke in a broken German accent, substantial time away from the country eroding at the way he spoke.

"This young man and your adopted daughter are twins. They were born to a mutant who has since taken on the name Mystique. She believes mutants are the next step in the evolutionary chain, and will soon take over. She is highly prone to violence in order to accomplish her goals."

"Violence? Does she have our daughter? Is she safe?"

"I do not know. However, I would recommend finding her as soon as possible."

* * *

"I'll be out in a minute, Talia. Make yourself at home." Mystique said, shutting and locking the bathroom door behind her without waiting for a response. It was most likely for the best, as Talia was too distracted by the sheer opulence of the room. The Blue Garden Inn was one of the city's oldest structures, and also it's priciest. Talia had only been inside once, when she and Jeanette were both fifteen. Bored on a spring break and in a state of semi-altered consciousness, they had snuck in during a busy business convention, spending the next few hours running about the hotel as most of the conventioneers assumed the two girls were somebody else's offspring and, therefore, somebody else's problem. The diversion lasted long enough for the two girls to raid the buffet table and swipe a few pocketfuls of free pens, key chains, and other freebies given out by vendors looking to spread their name. Their luck ran out, however, when they got the idea in them to take advantage of the hotel's generous pool area. It wasn't long after that the manager of the hotel was alerted to their presence. Jeanette's silver tongue was the only reason that they weren't arrested, and even then they had to wait while their parents were contacted. They were both, of course, grounded for a month with no television, phone, or anything else a teenager holds dear to their heart.

This, however, was her first time in any of the actual rooms, and, to be honest, she was a little disappointed. It wasn't the room itself, not with the fine oak furniture and oriental carpeting. There had been a mystery before to these rooms, thanks in no small part to her past run-in with the hotel. Snapping herself out of her daze, Talia quickly dug into the sagging black bag strapped around her shoulder, yanking out the sizable hunk of plastic that constituted her cell phone. She couldn't explain it, but she felt a burning need to call her adoptive parents before this woman came back into the room. She punched in the number to her mother's cell phone, quick contact that name of the game. After nineteen years, Talia knew how her mother dealt with stress, and "not well" explained everything fairly well.

"Talia? Oh my god, are you ok? Where are you?"

"Mom, I'm fine, I'm fine. Look, I don't want you worrying about me, I'm alright."

"Talia, we're at the police station, they say I bailed you out. What's going on?" Talia glanced back at the locked bathroom door before turning back to face the phone, dropping her voice to only slightly above a whisper.

"I'm safe, that's all I can tell you." Talia readied herself to snap her phone shut, but her mother's voice made her pause momentarily.

"Talia, where are you? Tell me."

"Look, mom, I can't tell you. This isn't something I can explain to you. This is just something I have to do, and deal with the consequences later. I love you mom. Tell dad I love him too."

Her mother let out another voice of protest, but all she received was the silent noise of the connection ending as her phone lit up, the words "Call Ended" blinking in digital.

"She-hung up on me." Catherine brought her phone in front of her face and stared hard, the words as plain as day, and still she found herself unable to comprehend their meaning.

"Well, Professor Xavier," Walter questioned nervously. "Were you able to…contact our daughter?" _I hope that's the right word for it, _Walter thought, having never asked someone to telepathically communicate with his daughter before.

"Yes, she at some establishment called the Blue Garden Inn. Do either of you know where that is?"

* * *

"Talia?" Mystique had left the bathroom, oddly appearing to have used the room to change into her natural form. It was the second time tonight Mystique had shocked Talia out of her thoughts.

"Mom? Uh, you, don't, um, mind me calling you 'mom', do you?" She stammered, and she nervously began tapping one boot-clad foot. She held her phone behind her back, pushing the heavy plastic brick into one of her back pockets.

"No, of course not. No, as a matter of fact, I think I like you calling me that," Mystique smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed, motioning for Talia to do the same, which she did in a rapid fashion.

"You asked about your…birth earlier. I suppose I should tell you that story first."

"Yea. Why did you get rid of me?" There was some bitterness in her voice; Talia could hardly be blamed for that. However, she was surprised at how little there was in there, and she wondered about that old cliché of time healing all wounds.

"I never wanted to, but after what happened between me and your father, it was the best option I had out of no options."

"My father, what, was he a serial killer?" Talia let out a loud snort, but her smile fell when she locked eyes with Mystique again. Her stony glare silently displayed the message that Talia should forget any notion of further joke telling. Without once taking off eye contact with her mother, Talia set down on the corner of the bed.

"You have to understand, I was born like this, Talia, and my mutation didn't trigger until I was a teenager. My family tried to kill me before I was placed in foster care. I was very bitter about everything for a very long time. I was in my seventies when I first met your father, right after the end of the Vietnam War."

"Wait, your seventies? How…how old are you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let's just say it's one more reason I consider myself above humanity. Now, may I continue," Mystique asked, to which Talia rapidly nodded her head. "Thank you, dear. Your father was a handsome man, but very…wrapped up. In everything. He had these ideas, and at first I thought he was crazy. Then, he showed me what he could do," Mystique grinned. "I was in awe of him. I had been masquerading as a nurse, getting income by selling whatever I came across that was fetching a price. He was wandering about after hours while I was on one of my raids. The first time he showed me what he could do, I didn't believe it. I didn't believe there were others like me. I thought I had some special punishment courtesy of evolution or God or whoever was responsible. The short straw in life. But him, he showed me another way of looking at this. He called it a gift. I sat up that entire night, talking to him. He left me in a daze, talking about his utopian vision for all of us. It had all been dreamed up by him and his friend, another mutant. It was beautiful, it was the first time I had used that word to describe anything."

"Wow. That sounds awesome." Talia whistled in awe.

"Yes, well, for a long time things were going well, all of us working together. We found more people that thought like us, more that wished for our voices to be heard." Mystique lost herself in a sudden wave of nostalgia, prompting Talia to speak up again after several minutes of silence.

"Well, what happened?"

"He got…swept up in what he believed, swept up in the idea of mutants. He-he wanted to experiment on you. I ran, and I tried to hide you as best I could," Talia blinked; processing everything she had just been told. "That was my motivation for finding you again, Talia. I think he may have finally found you. That's why I came back," Mystique took a deep breath. "And that's why we have to leave tonight."

"Run? Tonight!" Talia exclaimed in fervent disbelief, but Mystique was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone, a sleek black model with faux ivory trim, and a large pad with several plastic buttons assigned to direct-dial various areas of the hotel, all organized by a laminated card slipped onto the plastic covering. A light blinked, indicating a call from the front desk.

"Yes, what do you want?" Mystique hissed into the phone. She had many reasons to be irritable, only some of which had been told to Talia.

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Adler, but I just wanted to alert you that we had a large group of people looking for you. We detained them at the front desk, however, they have managed to make their way into the hotel, and we believe they're heading for your room." Mystique only response audible to the front desk clerk was a loud curse and the sound of the handset being slammed into the cradle with full force, enough to crack both. Without so much as blinking, Mystique was across the room, digging through the large canvas tote bag she had brought in from her car. Various object spilled out of bag until Mystique simply let the whole thing drop to the carpeted floor, knocking over the fragile wooden chair the bag had been resting on as well.

It was scarcely a moment before Talia was able to see what Raven had been searching for; a large gray handgun was gripped tightly in one hand, with two thin black objects Talia guessed to be ammo in the other. She walked to door in an angry stride, cocking the gun before peering out the peephole. Talia grabbed two fistfuls of the comforter in a stressed panic, squeezing as tight as she could. Mystique slid the chain lock on the door out of place, and then clicked the deadbolt out of place, before throwing open the door with her gun aimed in front of her.

The Blue Garden Inn had a very unique architecture, mostly due to the fact it had not been originally planned as a hotel, but instead an indoor garden. The project had proved too ambitious and expensive for the city, and it was until a wealthy developer from San Francisco heard about the project, and, after altering the idea to include a hotel, invested enough to make the building a reality. The garden had been done away with in the mid-seventies to make way for an indoor pool, but several palm trees dotted the ground floor, with decorative vines crawling across the front of each balcony. It was this artfully trimmed foliage that currently hampered Mystique vision of the lobby, for it was only when one attempted to aim a firearm through the leaves of a palm tree that one could truly how difficult a task it truly was. Still, she kept a steady eye on the ground level, waiting for a sign of the X-men.

"What-Why do you have guns?" Talia shouted loudly. She jumped off the bed, but as soon as she did so she was hit with the realization that she had no clue whatsoever where to run. Mystique answered her in a low monotone that evoked a drill instructor, turning back to give Talia the most cursory of glances before shutting the door. Although she set all the locks, Mystique made no effort to move back into the main area of the room, instead slinking into the darkness of the unlit bathroom.

"Talia, I wanted to wait until later to tell you this, however, there are mutants that work against us. They work with humans who perform sick experiments on us. Nothing more than the Mengles of our times," and Mystique most likely had much more to say, however it was at that exact moment that the door flew open, the inside handle of the door leaving a sizable crater in the wallpaper and plaster on the opposite wall. Talia saw, standing in the doorway, the culprit behind this intrusion, a short, squat man wearing a leather bodysuit. For some reason, Talia saw him and thought of a Weeble. Talia had time to think of little else, because it was at that moment that Mystique leaned out of the bathroom just enough to fire one of her pistols, burying a single slug into the man's skull. "That is one of them. Quickly now, that won't keep him for long."

The sound of chaos was faint, but it was audible nonetheless. A hotel full of people emptying out in a panic was not a quiet event. Talia, somewhere in the back of her head, wished that she was among those running, but she was not. Instead, she was pressed into a corner unable to tell her legs to move.

"Talia, hurry up. This man isn't going to stay down for long." Talia was still too shocked to question that statement, however, no part her brain, no matter how shocked, was willing to risk the anger of someone holding two loaded guns. She didn't take her eyes off of either person for a second, making her first two steps slowly and deliberately. Once those were completed, Talia sped up her movements, and she was almost by her mother's side when three long silver claws shot out of the hand closest to Mystique, and the hand that supported them sent them into the lower half of Mystique's shin, cleanly slicing through bone and marrow. Losing her balance, Mystique collapsed backwards onto the slick, cool tile of the bathroom floor as the man who had so previously been dead uttered an animalistic howl before flipping himself into a crouch. He grinned an evil, savage grin Mystique's way before becoming in a single moment aware that there was somebody else in the room.

Talia had been frozen in fear before, but now that this beast was actually looking at her, Talia felt a sick emptiness in the pit of her stomach and believed that she would die in this room, with air and freedom and escape only feet away. The door was snagged on an exposed two-by-four, and the guardian between death and escape stood up now, no longer hunched on the floor in a killing position.

"Wait," but that was all he was able to get out before Mystique was back on her feet, smashing the butt of a gun into his cheek, and, with the free hand, grasping him by the neck and forcing him, head first, through a door-sized full length mirror and straight into the wall behind it.

The path had been left clear, and Talia wasted no effort in forcing her feet to carry her out the door. She wanted no more to do with that room, nor anyone in it. She had got the story of her birth, although she had no guarantee as to the veracity of that story. She let out a silent yell of joy inside her head, but her joy was short-lived. Two groups, one coming from either end of the balcony, most dressed similarly to the man with the claws, whom she could hear yelling anew. With no time for true rational thought, Talia lept onto the brass banister in front of her, its glean diminished from a combination of age and constant polishing, and wrapped her tail around it. She let herself fall, praying constantly that this idea, which she had never attempted before that moment, would work. She tipped herself forward, letting gravity take over as she released her tail's hold on the railing and, grabbing the lower edge of concrete that made up the third floor walkway, managed to land on the second floor walkway by swinging her legs inward. It was in no way a graceful landing, her landing in a heap on her stomach, but Talia had managed to escape whoever was on the balcony above her, and that was enough. She pushed herself to her feet, checked for any grievous bodily injury, and, upon finding none worth stopping for, bolted down the balcony.

* * *

As the battle between Mystique and Wolverine raged on, the rest of the X-men reached the door, still gaping open. Most of the team switched between peering over the balcony and expressing disbelief over the stunt they had just witnessed.

"Nightcrawler, teleport down there, see if you can-"

"Forget the kid," Wolverine bellowed after throwing Mystique into the wall with enough force to crack both the wall and Mystique's back. "Someone get the hell in here!" And that was all he was able to get out before a blue foot connected with the back of his neck, a move that would have paralyzed anyone else. Being who he was, however, Wolverine simply let out a low groan of pain and hit the ground before swinging around, connecting three pointed claws with Mystique's abdomen. "Nevermind."

Mystique hit the ground sideways. Gut wounds were always the worst. They closed up just the same as anything else, but they let out a putrid smell, something Mystique had never gotten used to no matter how many times it happened. Putting a single hand to the wound, she took in several deep, ragged breaths before spying what she believed at the second to be her saving grace, or a the very least a good omen. One of her pistols was within reach, and once the cold metal was in her grasp she felt a resurgence of energy course through her body. She turned her gaze toward Wolverine, standing at her feet with his claws unsheathed.

"I can go at this just as long as you, Raven," and she knew the only reason he was using her real name was for humiliation. "Just give up. All we're doing is tiring each other out." If he saw the gun, he didn't care. Too bad for him. Her wound had healed, and she took full advantage of that, springing on top of Logan, pinning him in a matter of seconds and straddling him over top of his waist.

"What, you think you got me in a good position." He cracked.

"Of course. I have access to your windpipe." She used the butt of the gun as brass knuckles, slamming her fist into Logan's throat several times in rapid succession before stopping, frozen. She hadn't stopped of her own volition; rather, it was the claws piercing her back. Logan had managed to maneuver his arms behind Mystique, and he lay gasping for air as Mystique painfully, slowly attempted to pull herself free as warm, sticky blood filled her lungs.

* * *

Jean Grey's eyes snapped open.

Jean Grey, who had previously been concentrating on emotions, telepathically focusing from person to person,

_That would be something to experience._ And she began to move herself toward the open door. Behind her, she heard Scott, but she did not pause to listen.

* * *

Despite the fact his windpipe had not yet fully healed, Wolverine sprung to his feet, pushing Mystique off of him. The damage he had done to her would take longer than what she did to him, but he wished to be gone. Fighting someone like this gave him no pleasure, for a multitude of reasons. When you could heal every possible kind of injury, you could detach yourself from pain, but he couldn't see that as any sort of admirable goal. He was not four steps away, however, when a bullet whizzed past his nose, catching his cheek in a thin slice.

"Give it up," Logan wheezed, turning to face a Mystique who was holding a pistol in one outstretched, shaky hand. She balled her empty hand into a fist, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. "She ran off. You ain't starting a new brotherhood or shippin' her off to fight whatever fight you won't." His voice picked up as he spoke further, and perhaps as celebration, he pulled a flattened cigar and silver lighter out of a small pocket on the pant leg of his suit.

"Y-y-you don't kn-ow h-h-alf as m-uch as y-you think, Wolverine," Mystique steadied herself before aiming her gun toward Logan once more, who gave her a look of mild irritation. He plucked the lit cigar, loosely holding it with his thumb, index, and middle fingers. He opened his mouth, possibly to utter some form a retort, but it was at that moment that he jerked, every muscle tensing at once. The lit cigar dropped to the ground, glowing embers scattering and singing the carpet before putting itself out by invisible hand. As he began to hover in the air, Mystique scrambled to her feet as quick as she could. She held the gun out in front of her, but it did her no good. Wolverine flew backwards through the air, flying over the balcony and crashing to the ground three stories below. Mystique heard a large splash of water as she kept her gun trained on the open doorway, and it was no time before Jean Grey stood in the small foyer, the door slamming shut behind her. Beyond it, Mystique could hear the other X-men pounding on the door, and in part of her brain it struck her as odd that a door that had been kicked open would lock.

"Oh, that would be me," Jean uttered in a cold, flat voice, and the next thing she felt was blinding, white-hot pain inside her skull. She brought her hands to her temples, shrieking as every thought in her head was scrambled. Jean took slow, deliberate steps toward Mystique, placing her hands at Mystique's temples, pushing the shape shifter's hands to her sides as Jean brought mystique to eye level. "I got curious, what with the wonderfully emotions you and Logan were experiencing, and I being the curious person I am, I had just had to see what this felt like for myself. I must say, I approve whole-heartedly."

Pushing her self with what little strength she had left, Raven maneuvered the barrel of her gun as close to Jean's head as she could make it. Mystique concentrated with every brain cell that wasn't preoccupied with screaming in agony, praying that her index finger would twitch just a fraction of an inch. She was no longer fighting out of vengeance. Instead, another instinct had kicked in, one much more primal, more base.

Survival.

Mystique's only wish now was that she could see another day.

"Look into my eyes, Raven. I can make this very quick, or I can make this very slow. It will be painful all the same, but it is the difference between disconnecting your brain stem from your central nervous system; and boiling each hemisphere of brain separately inside your own skull. Really, it is your choice. I get my fun either way." Mystique resisted as best she could, but the beauty queen sociopath in front of her pushed further and further, and the solid wall behind left Mystique nowhere to turn. The instinct for survival kicked into overdrive. With one last ounce of strength, she pushed her finger that final micron of an inch, the cold metal of the gun kicking in her hand as the bullet fired. In her last moments of consciousness, she felt release as Jean's grip on her mind loosened.

* * *

It was at that very moment that Scott, bored and impatient with trying to open the door through polite, conventional means, simply hit the button on the side of his visor. A straight line of pure energy shot out of his eyes and a loud crack went through the air, followed very quickly by the acrid, noxious odor of burning brass and wood. Scott wasted no time, slamming into what was left of the door with his shoulder and bolting into the room. He spotted Jean lying on the floor, her hair sticky with a growing pool of blood beneath her head. He was by her side in a second, his shouts of her name bringing the rest of the team inside the large hotel room. The professor wheeled next to him, placing a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"They're alive, Charles. They are both in comas, but they're alive.

"Henry, we need to get both of them to a hospital immediately."

"I'm not leaving her side." To Scott, it was fact and a statement of mission. The professor said nothing, but simply motioned for Scott to follow him and began wheeling toward the door. Scott followed, but along his way he took passing glances of everyone, sly glances easier to steal when no one could see your eyes. He noticed Kitty was near tears, she and Jean had been close, but he also noticed Rogue was distraught, and Scott found that he didn't know if Rogue was distraught over Mystique or Jean. He saw Colossus and Gambit, both looked uneasy towards the whole situation, understandable since neither had known Mystique or Jean personally. Scott did take note that Colossus had sloughed off his metal skin, perhaps out of respect or perhaps just because there was no longer the imminent threat of battle. He last spied Nightcrawler, not even standing but sitting in a chair he had turned to face the wall. Scott did not let his gaze last longer than a moment; for some reason he felt guilty even looking at Nightcrawler at the moment. _Let him grieve,_ Scott thought as he and Charles left the room.

"Scott, I understand-"

"No, you don't. Jean is lying in a pool of her own blood in that room. She hasn't been feeling well ever since I went down to Pennsylvania. It was my leadership that led to her into this hotel. So the first she sees when she wakes up is going to be me." Scott kept his posture firm even if his voice wavered at the end.

"Scott, I understand what you are saying, but I need you here, leading them. I promise-" The professor was interrupted again, this time not by Scott's words but by his actions, as Scott smashed the flat end of his palm against the wall.

"Just get her to a hospital. I'm going to go in there, organize the team, find Kurt's sister, and then," Scott pointed his index finger at Charles' face. "I want a real reason why I have to be here instead of by Jean's side. Get her to a hospital." Scott angrily, turning to enter again the room without a last glance towards the professor.

"Kitty, Rogue. I need you to get down to the security room. Check all of the tapes for Kurt's sister; see if there is any sign of her leaving the hotel." Both Kitty and Rogue looked up, shocked.

"Scott, Jean's laying hehre in a coma." Scott exhaled through his nostrils in a frustrated manner.

"And we're getting her to a hospital. Right now, I need to know if Talia is still in the hotel or not. Check in on the communicators as soon as you've found out." Neither looked particularly overjoyed about it, but Kitty phased them both through the floorboards. As both girls disappeared through the floorboards, Logan came into the room followed closely by the Professor.

"Ah, Wolverine. It would seem Mystique got the advantage over you, at least momentarily," commented Henry, folding a bedsheet into a makeshift stretcher. "Back to normal?"

"Same as always, McCoy. What did she do to Jean?" Logan questioned, showing no apparent concern for Mystique.

"Mystique shot her, close range. Fortunately for Jean, Mystique's aim was off, although time is still most certainly of the essence. Would you mind taking an end? We need to get both of these women to the nearest hospital." Henry asked, gesturing to the far end of the bed sheet he had slid under her form. Scott noticed the sheet taking on a deep scarlet color, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Sure, Hank," Logan was across the room in three steps. "But yer wrong about Mystique."

"Oh, and how is that," They both pulled, lifting Jean's form several inches above the carpet. They began to walk, with Logan moving backwards. "Get her downstairs, and we'll come back for Mystique."

"Wasn't Mystique that tossed me over that balcony. It was Jean."

"Wait, what? What did you say?" Scott began to follow, coming as close to Wolverine as possible without entering the narrow foyer that stood between the doorway and the actual room.

"Jean was the one threw me into that pool. There's only one thing that feels like a telepath going in your head, and that's exactly what I felt." Scott wanted to press Logan for more information, but Hank spoke up before any further talks could occur.

"Scott, please. We have to go. I promise you'll be the first to know as soon as she wakes up." Scott didn't say anything in return, just nodding as Hank and Logan left the room, Jean's body still suspended in the cotton hammock as it disappeared from sight.

"We went through all the video of every door in or out of this hotel. Lucky for us this hotel has all brand-new security equipment. Top-notch stuff, I mean, their direct line feed-"

"Shadowcat," said Scott. The team, or what remained of it, was circled in front of the Blue Garden's registration desk. There were no personal anywhere to be seen. No guests were frolicking about in the pool or milling about. What Mystique's gunshots hadn't finished Logan's three-story dive certainly had done the job. The hotel was deserted, and that was fine with Scott. He was already stretched as thin as could be; he wished as little external stress as possible. In fact, his wish was that the girl would come out of her own volition and he could be at the hospital."Were you able to find her on any of the footage?"

"No. We checked every exit for the past twenty minutes. No sign of her."

"That means she's still in the hotel," Scott stared toward the far end of the hotel with a look of disbelief on his face. "Alright team, here's the plan. We're going to make master keys using the magnetic card system. After that, split into two's. Between us, we've got enough people to cover each floor," Scott was about to continue, but noticed Remy shooting looks Rogue's way. She responded by glancing looks of deep-seated hatred when she wasn't pointedly ignoring him. "Gambit, you're with me." The Cajun man twisted his lips in a sneer.

"Yi bebysittin' me, Summers?"

"Call it whatever you want. Nightcrawler, I want you and Colossus to check out the fourth and third floors. Rogue and Shadowcat, I want you to take the rooms on the second and third floors. Gambit and I will take the employee areas. Use the magnetic card reader behind the counter to make yourself a master key, and make sure to keep in contact in case there are any issues." Scott said by way of dismissal. Nightcrawler was the first to leave as Colossus trudged behind, still in his flesh form. Rogue and Kitty were not far behind, heading just behind the counter toward the key room. Gambit and Scott were the last to leave, Gambit uncharacteristically quiet, not that Scott was paying attention to him either way. Scott's body was hunting for Talia, but his mind was concerned with Jean. He flashed back to her limp form cradled in the bedsheet, her face growing paler by the passing seconds. There was an empty pit in his stomach, the idea that Jean might not make it through this, and no matter what he did to ignore that nauseating pit it wouldn't go away. He was reflecting on this, and also his outburst towards the professor, when the acrid stench of tobacco wavered slowly past his nostrils. He snapped out of his reflection to see Remy leaning with his shoulder against the cool, smooth surface of the marble countertop.

"Where ti first, fearless leader?" Scott shot him an annoyed look, but refused any answer, instead simply walking past him to the first door and swiping through.

"Check everywhere. Kurt has the ability to blend into the shadows, it's logical his sister might have the same ability,"They made their way through the offices with relative ease, no corner or cabinet left alone. The basement was next, and they were halfway through the pantry of the kitchen when a storage closet refused to open, the result of a neglected track upon which the door ran. Becoming frustrated at this, Scott punched the wall as hard as he could, the pain in his knuckles an immediate reminder that physical pain did not distract from emotional pain.

"Got a question fo' yi, Summers. Why yi still here?" Scott heard Remy from behind him, and gritted his teeth, half from the pain of punching the wall and half in an effort to keep down his anger.

"Because Kurt's sister is still somewhere in this hotel." Scott replied angrily.

"So yi sayin' yi'd rather be here den by yo girl's side?" He asked it casually, however, he still found himself pinned against the door jamb within a flash of time, an angry X-man's hand gasping him by the neck. Scott's teeth were gritted together so hard it was a small wonder that they didn't snap off altogether, and for several seconds neither one knew what was going to happen next. All at once, however, Scott released his hold on Remy before turning his back to the Cajun and shaking his head. Remy did not allow his body to move in any way, not even to pick up the cigarette still smoldering on the tile.

"Do not, for one minute, think that I don't care about Jean. That girl is the most important thing in the world to me, and right now I don't know if she's going to live or die. So I would advise you to watch your mouth." Emotionally exhausted, Scott collapsed backwards to the wall, sinking down to the non-skid floor. Gambit stomped out the cigarette on the floor before pulling another out of his pack.

"Yi t'ink yi de only one ever lost yo' girl?" There were roughly a thousand things Scott was expecting to hear Remy say. That question didn't even come under consideration for the list.

"What?" Scott asked, but before Remy could answer, a noise came from the next room, smacking against the wall. They met eyes briefly before both tiptoeing, creeping over towards the door without either one telling the other to do so. It was hardly necessary to tell someone to be quiet when you were playing what boiled down to a game of Hide-and-Seek with bigger stakes. Remy laid a gentle hand on the door knob. His eyes again met Scott, who very slowly and softly nodded his head, giving Remy the silent go-ahead to open the door. He threw the door open with one solid motion…

…And before Scott could comprehend it, Remy was thrown backward with a crashing force, colliding with great force against a heavy wooden butcher's block, the first thing with which the back of his head happened to collide. Scott stood statue still, unable to force his feet to respond to any command.

"Gambit, Are you alright?" Scott came by his side, but found his efforts rewarded by a hard uppercut to the jaw.

* * *

[Author's Note: I do not own any Marvel characters, and I make no money off this work. Please do not repost this without my knowledge. Exam time is coming, so this may be the last chapter I post this year. I don't know, I may try to sneak something in before December 31. Who knows? All I ask is that you read and please leave a little feedback. 


	8. Chapter 8

"Alright, I have your partner's body hostage. Answer a few questions and I'll return it in roughly the same condition," Scott half-heard the icy demand and instead was still focused on the strike to his jaw. He shut the pain out as best he could and stood to his feet as sleep tried to grab his eyes from behind. "Why are you here? Why are you hunting me?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Scott steadied his visor. Remy was hunched slightly, giving off a position reminiscent to that of a boxer just before a devastating punch. Neither one made any attempt to move.

"Your friend, the one with the claws, I saw him stab my mother. Then, as I jumped off that balcony, I saw you coming up one end. That woman who called herself my mother told me you like to do little experiments on mutants, but you're not experimenting on me. Do anything I don't like and I'll scramble this fucker's brain; I can do it, you know." Scott's jaw fell slack as he stared at Remy.

"Wait, You're…Talia? In Gambit's body?"

"Whoever Gambit is." Scott gritted his teeth, then with determined motions, dialed his communicator and pushed the red X on the front of it.

"Kurt, get down to the kitchen immediately," Scott said as calmly as he possibly could, He let his arm fall to his side again. Then, to Talia, "Talia, I'm not sure what Mystique told you, but we're not here to experiment on you. We're not here to do anything to you. All we want to do is" but he could not say anything after that. _Why have we come here? We traveled across the country, and what do any of us have to show for it? Two bodies, that's it. _It was at that moment that Scott's melancholy reminiscence was disrupted by the sudden appearance of Kurt and Piotr. Scott was so intimate with the mechanics of Kurt's teleportation that covering his nose was a second nature, however Talia received the full brunt of that choking, noxious air.

"Vhat is it? Vhat happened?" Kurt questioned.

"Kurt, I'm going to need you to stay calm," Scott said as he pulled himself up. "Because what I'm about to tell you is going to sound nuts-"

"Who are you," Talia finally spoke, clearing the last from her lungs, and all three turned toward Remy's form. "You-the one with the tail-he called you Kurt. Why do you look like me?"

"Vhat exactly are you talking about? I look notzhing like you, Gambit, and you know who I am," Kurt snapped at Remy before turning back to Scott. "Vhat's going on? Vhere's my sister?"

"Kurt, calm down!" Scott barked, and all eyes focused on him. He immediately regretted yelling. He cleared his throat, but before he can speak again, Talia spoke in a calm, quiet voice.

"Listen, all of you. In the past six hours, I've been arrested, met someone who claims to be my birth mother, and then seen her get stabbed by some guy who has claws in his _hands_. Now I'm in the body of somebody I don't know, and I'm staring at someone who looks just like me. I think I deserve some answers," Scott made an attempt to speak, Talia spoke through him. "You and him leave," She said, gesturing at Piotr and Scott. Piotr made no hesitation and Scott followed soon afterwards, but he paused just before the swinging doors.

"Kurt, that's Talia inside of Gambit." Scott said before stepping out of the kitchen. Kurt stared, slack-jawed toward the door as its momentum died down.

"Ok, why do you look like me? Are you trying to kill me?"

"No! No, Talia, My name is Kurt Wagner, and I'm your brother. I'm vith ze X-men. Ve're mutants, all of us. Talia, all of zhis is my fault. Scott found zhis picture of you," Kurt reached into a small, hidden pocket of his uniform, and produced a Polaroid. "And ever since zhen, I've been vaiting for just one moment to see you; I just vanted one chance to meet ze family I never knew," Kurt sighed, "But now zhat I'm here, I can't zhink of anyzhing to say, except I am sorry. I never meant for any of zhis. Two people might die tonight, one my own mother and another one of my best friends, and all of zhis because I vanted to meet my family. Talia, vhat could I say to make any of zhis right?" A long, uncomfortable pause.

"Please, just tell me what's going on. Why did that man stab my mother?"

"His name is Logan, and he and our mother have a long history. She's done zhings in her life, I can't name zhem all."

"She shot at you and said you were hunting me down for experiments. When-,"Talia crouched onto the floor, ducking slightly under the butcher's block. "When I saw him cut her leg, I figured she was right."

"She vasn't. Ve live at a school, Talia, a school for mutants, and ve learn how to use our powers to help out everyone, mutant or human."

"Like a superhero?"

A little bit." Kurt said with a hint of pride. Then, his communicator crackled, the voice of Kitty Pryde distorted but recognizable through the miniature speaker.

"Kurt, Talia's parents are upstairs; the Professor just came in."

"My parents?" Talia sprung up from under the chopping block.

"Ja. Here, I can teleport us upstairs." Talia opened Remy's mouth to speak, but instead felt her body being _pulled, _violently so. However, in the very next instant, everything stopped, and she felt her stomach churning and twisting itself. She doubled over and her knees buckled. Her throat burned, and she began to dry heave as she collapsed, kneeling, on the floor. Kurt, with some trepidation, placed a hand at her shoulder blades, keeping it there until she stood up to Remy's six-foot three height.

"Um, Talia, Is zhere some vay you could…maybe…come out of Gambit?" Kurt was met with a blank stare, then a look of sudden realization.

"I want to see my parents first. If they're ok, I'll let this guy go."

"Zhen let's go. Zhe rest of us are vaiting in zhe lobby." Talia noticed for the first time that they were standing in a stairwell. She let Kurt lead her into the opulent lobby, she saw the pack waiting up ahead. From the far end, she noticed most of them looked about her age, with a few exceptions. As she got closer she saw her parents, standing next to a bald man seated in a wheel chair. She saw her father's long, grey beard and small bifocals perched at the edge of his nose. She saw her mother's long, curled hair, beginning to show the first grey hairs. All at once, she felt her gut tighten, and her head felt light and filled with air. She made her final steps very carefully, and she was reminded of the last time she had been in this motel.

"Kurt, Gambit? Where's Talia?" Kitty questioned impatiently. Ignoring her, Talia turned toward Piotr, who had since shed his armored form, but he was still a few inches taller than Remy.

"Hey armor-all, can you catch your friend?" Talia recognized the man from downstairs. She glanced around, but she caught no glance of the man with the glasses that she had punched.

"Where's our daughter? I thought that boy with the glasses said he had found her." A female voice floated across the lobby.

"What did you say, Remy?" Piotr spoke in a quiet voice, although for him that was still audible to Kitty, Kurt, and Rogue. Talia simply turned around.

"Just…hold your arms out." Piotr kept a confused look on his face, but he complied. For an instant, Remy's body was still, even rigid. Then, to all four's silent astonishment, they witnessed Talia leap forth from Remy's chest, and it was hard to tell if it was gravity or her momentum that forced Remy backwards into Piotr's waiting arms. With one strong, fluid motion, Piotr wrapped his arms around Remy's waist, bringing him to a semi-standing position. Remy's arms dangled like dead weight at his sides and his mouth hung open slightly. Piotr looked at his friend nervously; one sideways glance at his wide eyes and slightly trembling jaw was all it took. Where Remy had been standing, now there was a girl, a blue-skinned, yellow-eyed woman that made every x-man do a double take as she bolted away from this group

"How did you do that? You were inside Remy?" He asked.

"What in tha hell was thaht?"

"Mom! Dad!" She had one arm around her mother's shoulder and another around the middle of her father's back.

"Talia, you're ok!" Her mother shouted, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter.

"Thank god, you're alive." Her father said, visibly relieved.

"So, who are these people? They're not here to experiment on me?" Her father gave her an odd look, one that was more bemused than confused.

"No. No, they're not here to hurt you Talia. This is Professor Xavier, he runs a school for mutants.Do you remember, we showed you that book he wrote once."

"Yes, Talia, it is nice to finally meet you. I only wish our first introduction could be less chaotic." Xavier pushed his chair forward, extending his hand toward Talia. She took it in a friendly but very tentative handshake.

"Um, Hi. Is…all of this about me?" She waved her arm about in a small half-circle.

"I'm afraid so. Mystique is the name she goes by nowadays, and she is responsible for many attacks supposedly on behalf of mutants.

"So he's really my brother? And that woman? She was really my mother?"

"Yes," Logan walked up from behind the professor, laying one hand on the rear grip of his wheelchair.

"Hotel's clean, Chuck. Looks like Mystique really was pulling this one on her own."

"Logan, you and Beast take the Blackbird and get everyone back to Bayville. Jean and Raven need to be put under medical care immediately, and our students will be waking up soon for school. I'd like to speak to Talia and her parents personally." Xavier momentarily noticed that Talia was no longer next to him, and after a minute of allowing his eyes to silently search the lobby, he noticed her scrunched up between her parents and the lobby desk.

"What're you gonna do? Wheel yourself back to New York?" Walter and Cathie's faces lit up momentarily with shock at Logan's comment.

"Getting Jean and Mystique under medical supervision is paramount right now. Have Beast get me a full status report on both. I'd like to stay here for the moment," Logan curtly nodded his head, acknowledging the professor's orders. Then, Logan paused. He opened his mouth to say something, some question dancing on his tongue. "Yes?" The professor asked.

"Nah, forget it. Call if something fucks up." Logan said over his shoulder, causing Cathie's face to blanch once more.

"Mr. and Mrs. Royce, is there somewhere more private we can talk?"

* * *

"Hey, McCoy, we're taking off," Logan and the students had made the trek from the hotel to the woods on the edge of the town, the last wispy blanket of dusk covering the sky. "And not a moment too soon."

"And where is our fearless leader?" Henry asked with no small amount of sarcasm in his voice. The students filed wordlessly past the two adults, most looking as though they might fall asleep on the ramp and find it comfortable.

"He's stickin' around with the Talia kid," Logan paused, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. "Probably gonna be bringing her back with him. We got any beers in there? I need something for my nerves."

"That was the task to which we were charged." Beast said emotionlessly, eliciting a long sideways glance from Logan. "And no, we must have forgotten the beers. Would you like to stop at a convenience store?"Beast uttered, quipping as though the last sentence had never happened.

"Nah, hell with it. You want a cigar?"

"No, thank you."

* * *

Inside the small bungalow that the Royces made their home, Charles Xavier was seated at the table along with Talia and her parents. A carafe of coffee had been prepared, and much of the conversation had centered around that, what with cream and sugar and all the other necessities of drinking coffee in the twenty-first century. The clock over the stove glowed,in a toxic-green color, 3:01.

"Professor Xavier, are you sure you're not tired? It's gotten late, and with the time difference between New York and-

"I assure you, Mrs. Royce that I am quite alright," Talia sat between the professor and her father, uncharacteristically quiet and staring into her steaming mug of coffee. "However, in recognition of the late hour, I would prefer to get straight to brass tacks, if you will pardon the slang. I would like to offer Talia a place at my school." The professor stopped, waiting for any reaction from Talia herself.

"Just…like that? I possessed one of your students and punched another."

"As I am aware. Talia, my school and my home are a haven for all mutants. We all work together to not only focus and strengthen our abilities, but to use them in a way that benefits the whole planet, mutants and humans alike. Your parents told me that you are the only mutant in this town."

"If there's any others, they're hiding under a rock somewhere." Charles paused.

"Mr. and Mrs. Royce, would it be possible for me to speak to your daughter alone? I feel this is something two mutants must speak about alone." Walter and Cathie exchanged parental glances.

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Walter said plainly as he scratched his grey beard and rose from his chair. "Cathie, would you like to sit out on the deck for a while?"

"Talia, we'll be right out back if you need anything," Cathie said by way of a confirmation as she stood up. "Honestly, though, it's five minutes in those chairs before you fall asleep." Cathie was heard to say as the two left the kitchen table. Talia and the professor were the only two left in the room. Talia made it a point to avoid eye contact with the professor, instead choosing to focus her golden eyes on the mug of coffee in front of her until she heard-

_Talia, I do believe you would be happy at my school. Your brother has been._

-in her own head, but unmistakably the voice of Charles Xavier. She turned to him, the first time she had faced him since he had entered their home. He merely smiled, and she heard him again-

_What you are hearing is MY mutant ability-telepathy. I have the power to project my thoughts and read others thoughts._

Upon hearing that, Talia sprang from the table, knocking over her chair in the process.

"You're reading my thoughts!" It was hard to tell if it was an accusation or a question.

"I'm not, Talia," Charles said, and this time he spoke using his mouth, "I will not read anyone's mind without their expressed permission for me to do so. You are hearing my thoughts because I am projecting them."

"So you could have a whole conversation with me and never open your mouth?"

_Correct._ Talia looked at the professor for a minute, studying him, before she raised one hand to her temple and extended her other hand, open, towards the professor.

_So can you hear this?_

_Yes I can. However, the hand motions are unnecessary. Do they make you feel more comfortable?_

_Not really, I just figured that was how it works. Are there a lot of people who look like me? I guess that's what I want to know._

_You're referring to your physical mutations. It's not as uncommon as you might think. We have several students at my school who have physical mutations. One of my students must wear special glasses to contain the solar beams his eyes emit on a constant basis. Another girl clothes herself from head to toe because her physical mutation denies her any skin to skin contact._

_What? Really?...Geez,. _Talia righted the chair she had knocked over earlier and took a seat in it._ So I can just show up at this school? _

_I established my school as a safe haven for all mutants. We are going through a dark tunnel right now, but the thing you must remember about tunnels is that every one leads to daylight. One day, there will be peace between mutants and humans_

_I'd be leaving my job and my friend…wow, just one._

_It is not an easy decision, Talia, and I understand if-_

_I wasn't thinking things over, Dr. Xavier._

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, this chapter is much shorter than the others. There's more coming soon…just up around the bend. So read, review, and whiten your teeth while you wait. 


	9. Chapter 9

Logan stalked down the hallway, and anyone who saw him would have had a hard time not picturing a wild animal on the trail of its next meal. As it was, however, no one was currently in the hallway. Logan had recently completed a marathon four-hour workout session in the Danger Room. As he passed the infirmary, his thoughts turned to Mystique. He thought of the recent brawl, the reason Charles had requested specifically that he not fly back to California. _I didn't see the kid until Raven had thrown the first punch. It was a gut reaction, same gut reaction I always got when Raven's involved. Would've had her if Jean hadn't thrown me over that balcony. What the hell was she doin' anyway, _Logan thought as his feet carried him through the infirmary doors before he had noticed.

Henry was fast asleep on a military surplus cot, his wide chest rising and falling slightly as an overturned coffee mug leaked down the tile grout in a snaking brown river. The infirmary was dived into two parts. The first part was a small office, just enough for Henry to stack medical books from floor to ceiling, on things from brain psychology to podiatry. Papers littered the floor, and momentarily Logan wondered if Henry even used the tall filing cabinet opposite the door, or if it was ornamental. The second part, through a metal swinging door, was the actual infirmary, with beds and a large operating station. Logan cast another look Henry's way before stepping toward the infirmary door. He stuck his face into the wire-mesh glass, catching a glimpse of Jean first, then Scott fast asleep in the chair next to her. Mystique and Jean were hooked to intravenous feeding tubes and breathing machines, and momentarily Logan was transfixed by the thin plastic tubes running in and out of the both of them. He regarded Mystique with little more than the most casual of glances, and he instead directed his attentions Aside from the large white bandage covering half her head, shaved in order to supply access to the wound. Jean looked perfect, pristine, and Logan knocked a stray thought from his buzzing mind ans he opened the door, startling Scott out his sleep.

"Just me, slim."

"Oh," Scott fell back into the chair as Henry left, leaving Logan and Scott the only two conscious souls in the room. "Why are you here, Logan? I though you had to fly back out to California."

"Yea, well, seems I spooked the kid; he asked 'Ro to take the bird out there. I was just passin' through. About to have a cigar, thought I'd see how Jean was doing." Logan lied.

"I should've done something, Logan. I should've run in after her, maybe I could've gotten the drop on Mystique-" Logan cut off Scott's spill of words.

"Don't start spoutin' bullshit like that. This ain't yer fault," The two fell into a silence standing over the hospital bed. "You-you give her that ring yet?"

"No. No, she, uh, she had the incident by Ma's before I had the chance," Scott's voice cracked, and it was obvious he was near tears. Logan nodded with his jaw set, and Scott brought himself down on the chair, perching on the very edge of the seat. Logan eyed him without turning directly towards him. "Why are you here? I thought you were going to fly out to California."

"Professor called me, said I scared the girl. He asked 'Ro to fly the Blackbird out there." Silence again drifted over the two X-men, the various beeps and whirs of machines creating a small symphony. Logan's sensitive ears twitched at the sounds, all of them, and try though he might to drown them out, he couldn't. He looked down at Scott, still perched at the edge of that cheap plastic chair with all his energy focused on Jean, and he felt envy tugging at his brain.

"Dr. McCoy told me the bullet never entered her head. It's just a coma, she could wake up any minute." Scott said and turned his head to Jean as though he were expecting her to spring into his arms at that very moment, and when it didn't happen, he just kept waiting.

"Between you, me, and my cigar, Slim, I heard him and Chuck arguin' right after we landed in California. Right after she found the kid, led us to that police station."

"Did you hear what about?"

"Nope, and it's none of my business. Those two known each other a long time; they got their secrets and I'm not about to intrude on 'em."

"She's been different ever since she passed out at Penn," Scott blurted, "It's like…it's like…It's like her mind is mutating."

* * *

The first feeling Remy had upon awakening was pain. His entire body was consumed by a dull ache, no part worse than his head. His mouth was dry, so dry his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He darted his eyes about, paranoid thoughts of all sorts flashing about before he realized he was in a hospital. He could see three empty beds to his left, and a cabinet stocked full with medical supplies. He turned his head to his right, noticing he was not alone. Two beds down lay the girl he recognized as Jean Grey, and for the first time he was relieved to see an X-man. Scott Summers was sitting beside her, her hand cradled in his. If he noticed Remy had woken up, he didn't show it. Behind them, Remy could make out another body. He had an inkling of who it might be, but it wasn't his concern. He wanted water. He opened his mouth with slight pain; his lips felt tight and chapped. His first attempt at speaking came out as a hoarse croak, and his second didn't fair any better, instead sending him into a rough coughing fit. He grabbed the bedrail and pulled himself into a quick sitting position.

"You're awake," he heard through his hacking, and he couldn't tell if it was a mere observation or genuine surprise that he had woken up from…whatever had happened. "I'll go get Dr. McCoy." Remy smacked the side of the bed several times, pointing to his throat and miming drinking several times in quick succession once Scott turned back to him. Scott said nothing.

"Ah, Mr. Lebeau. Glad to see you awake at six A.M." Henry said as though he would prefer Remy asleep. Remy grabbed a glass of water, which he promptly drained, handing the empty paper back as Scott took his seat next to Jean.

"Dieu, dat's de best glass o water I eva had." McCoy paid no attention to him, instead concentrating on a clipboard that was precariously balanced on his left forearm as he intermittently scribbled down figures.

"You were unconscious for some time, Mr. Lebeau, and you suffered a particularly nasty blow to the head. Are you dizzy at all," Henry asked, and Remy shook his head no. Dr. McCoy continued to administer various tests involving Remy's eyes and motor functions for roughly twenty minutes before silently disconnecting the IV tubes that had led into Remy's veins. "Congratulations, Mr. Lebeau. Despite a particularly nasty blow to the head, you show no signs of suffering a concussion." His voice carried nothing but the most detached professionalism, much of the good-natured humor he usually spoke with gone.

"Dey always said I got a t'ick head."

"Now, what is your last conscious memory?"

"Walkin' through de 'otel kitchen wit' Summers. Now how 'bout you tell me why 'm layin' in a hospital bed?"

"You were possessed, Mr. Lebeau, by the newest member of this institute. Now, your vitals all check out and you seem healthy, but I am going to keep you down here just for tonight. I want to see what, if any, long term effects possession has."

"Well t'anks fo' all yo' concern," Remy stated with sarcasm once Dr. McCoy had left the room. He turned to Scott, "I was possessed? What sort o' smokin' he been doin,?"

"Leave him alone. He's been distracted," Scott said, but he stopped short of mentioning what Logan told him. "Kurt's sister, Talia? That's her mutation. She can somehow take control of other people's bodies."

"Dat so? I do anyt'ing to regret?"

"No, not really," said Scott as he absentmindedly rubbed his bruised jaw. "How are you feeling?" Remy paused.

"I want a cigarette." He said simply, hopping out of the bed. He glanced next to Scott, and observed that the other body was that of Mystique. "Dat's some bruise. Who gave ya dat?"

"Don't worry about it. Look; you can't just leave. For one, you're wearing a nightgown."

"I am wearin' a naightgown. Why'm I wearin' a naightgown?"

"Because this is a medical environment. Look, Remy," Scott kissed Jean's hand before stepping out of his chair. "I've got a question for you. Right before you were possessed, you made a comment, something about …" Scott continued talking, but Remy didn't need to hear it. He knew what Scott wanted to hear. Internally, he cursed his mouth, tongue, and anything else that granted him the ability to speak. One misstep in conversation! That was all! The one time he mentions the matter in five years and now it comes back to haunt him-

"Remy?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, musta bumped my head o' somethin', 'cause I don' seem t'rememba' dat." Remy let the words rush from his mouth, hoping that Scott would drop the whole subject.

"You asked me if I thought I was the only one to ever lose a loved one, pretty much your exact words. Look, I understand if it's personal, but-

"Why'd it be personal? I never lost anyone in my life," Remy spat. "Anyways, I don' rememba' dat." He settled back into the bed, turning so that his back was toward Scott. He lay there, waiting for Scott to bring up the subject that was dancing through his mind. His mind played the scene out once, then again, and the more Remy tried to shut it out the more details he seemed to dredge up. Sleep came in short order, but it was fitful, and in the middle of everything he woke up. The transition from dream to life was such that he almost screamed out loud. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself, only letting a sharp gasp. He fell asleep again after a half-hour of laying still in the bed with no sound in his head but that of his pounding heartbeat, only to awaken in what felt like a microsecond, the face of his friend staring down at him.

"Doctor McCoy said we could find you down here," Remy glanced at Piotr through one tired eye curtained by hair. "I brought Illyana as well." At the mention of her name, the small girl, dwarfed by the plastic chair she was curled up in, began waving a piece of paper with the hand not clutching a small stuffed bunny.

"Mr. Remy, I make picure! I make picture!" The small girl squealed, standing on the chair and hopping. Remy took the picture from her; it was a simple crayon drawing of three stick figures standing on a flat green line that Remy took to be grass. Over each of the figures had been written a name, with Remy and Piotr flanking Illyana and all three sporting wide red grins, complete with red-outlined teeth. A large yellow sun resided in one corner above a brown rectangle, and at the bottom had been written, in broken English and Russian, "I dont want you sick. Mr. Remy feel better. Happy new home" and it was signed by Illyana. Remy grinned down at it.

"Dat's a good picture, Illyana. Definitely Help me get outta here faster," Then, to Piotr, "What time's it, anyway?"

"It is ten A.M. We have already been up for several hours." Piotr said as he handed Remy a small bundle of clothing. Remy greedily accepted the offering, pulling on clothing under the bedsheets as he responded.

"Well, you got de advantage o' not bein' in a hospital." Remy hopped out of bed waving an unopened pack of cigarettes. Piotr plucked Illyana from her perch on the plastic chair and followed his friend, neither noticing that Scott was also gone.

* * *

"Scott, why aren't you in the infirmary, by Jean?" The professor's voice was shocked, even scared,

"Scott, please come in. How is Jean?"

"No change since the hospital," Scott said sadly as he approached Charles' desk. "Look, Professor, I came because I owe you an apology. I lost my temper at that motel-

"Scott, you have nothing to apologize for, I assure you. Mystique blindsided us, there's no other way to put it. The entire team did an exemplary job handling things," Charles folded his hands in an open triangle. "And it also makes me feel that much better about my decision to put you in control of this institute once I leave." Scott's jaw fell slack at that announcement.

"Professor, I-you- I can't take over this institute. I'm no leader." Scott slumped into one of two wing chairs positioned at forty-five degree angles with Xavier's desk.

"I believe you would be hard pressed, Scott, to find someone in this mansion who shares that sentiment. Scott, I'm not invincible; I won't live forever. I need to know that both facets of this mansion, the school _and_ the X-men, will be put into capable hands. Ororo and Logan both agree with me that you are the only sensible choice," Scott opened his mouth, but Charles waved a hand. "Scott, I don't expect you to immediately settle into this, and I don't intend to leave anytime in the near future. However, a man of my age must confront his own mortality, and this is one small step in that process." The Professor leaned back into his chair.

"Sir, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Scott. I know your mind is still on Jean, so stay by her."

"Thank you, Professor." Xavier did not say anything, merely nodding his head as a farewell. He watched as Scott rose from the chair, crossed the expanse of the study and shut the door behind him.

"Stay beside her, Scott, whatever you do. You may be the only thing keeping her at bay."

* * *

"Bon nuit, Summer!"

Scott watched as Remy stumbled through the open infirmary door, a half-empty bottle clutched by the neck in one gloved hand. He stopped, unsteadily, staring in Scott's general direction for several beats before tipping the bottle back and emptying much of the contents down his throat.

"Y'wannat'd a talk, mon ami? Den…Let's talk!" Remy drunkenly shouted across the whole of the infirmary, despite Scott sitting less than twenty feet away.

"What the hell are you doing? You're drunk!"

"No need t'shout," Remy slurred with a goofy grin pasted across his face. " 'M right here. I can hear you," Remy grabbed the closest plastic chair to him and dragged it across the floor with no dearth of noise. He didn't sit in the chair so much as fall into it, propping his feet up at the edge of Mystique's bed. This positioned Remy at an odd angle to Scott, although neither seemed to care too much. "An' now 'm even closer! How 'bout dat?" This set of another fit of giggles from Remy. Scott grabbed Remy by the shoulders, and, before Remy's alcohol clouded mind could react to any of it he had been dragged out into the hallway.

"This is wonderful. I'm assuming no one told you this is a school?"

"You de one said y'wanted a know 'bout everyt'ing. Well seems I gotta be drunk t'do it. An' so d'you." He slurred as an afterthought. He swung the arm clutching the bottle toward Scott, missing his chest by a millimeter.

"I don't drink."

"Not at all? Dat ain't healthy. Human bein's, like, fifty percent water."

"Seventy."

"Whatever. Y'wanna hear dis story you gonna take a drink." Scott snatched the bottle out of Remy's hand and tossed it in the garbage can behind him, the bottle shattering as it hit bottom.

"What'd y'do dat fo'? Y'lucky I got mo'. Doin' dat where I come from get y'killed." Remy murmured as he pulled a second bottle from the folds of his trenchcoat. Scott made a grab for this one, too, but Remy managed to swing his arm away at the last moment, drunkenly chuckling the whole time. Scott looked at him with a strong jaw of determination, but inside he was mildly panicking. Logan was the only member of the institute known to drink, but his healing factor usually took care of the messier aspects of intoxication. No such luck here, and Scott found himself at a loss on how to deal with someone so far gone.

"Remy, come on, we're going to get you up to your room." Scott put one arm around Remy's shoulder, guiding him down the long hallway toward the elevator.

"T'ought y'wanted t'talk," Remy managed to slur, "When're we gonna jus' talk, Summers?" Remy chuckled, then continued talking. Scott ignored all of it, growing more and more stressed as he pulled Remy down the hall and smacked the call button of the elevator. The doors slid open with a satisfied whoosh, and Rogue stepped out. She did not look well.

"Scott? Whaht're yah doin' with Gambit?"

"Chere?"

"Is heh..is heh drunk? Ah thought yah said yah weren't drinkin' tonight." Rogue snapped before walking off. Taking his advantage, Scott dragged Remy into the elevator and pushed a small metal button next to a number three. Scott let his hold on Remy slip, allowing Remy to sink to the floor.

"Why did she think you weren't drinking tonight?" Scott asked, but Remy just grunted as began fumbling for his bottle of rum.

The elevator dinged one.

"Did you know m'father used t'smack meh least once a day? Kept me in line, he said. Never my brother, t'ough! Nah, my brother got de best. Went to school, got married. Me, 'm jus' a stupid t'ief. Better'n my father, but so what? My brother got to go t'high school. What was it like, goin' t'high school," Remy slumped even further to the floor, continuing his story without waiting for an answer to his question. "Henri used t'come home, talkin' bout a pep rally o' some schoo' play. Best t'ief dis side o de Mississippi but I didn' even graduate sixth grade." Remy muttered as he finally discovered his liquor bottle. He spun the cap, allowing it to hit the elevator floor with a hollow plink; but he didn't drink, just stared at the neck of the bottle. Scott stared as well, not at the bottle but at Remy.

The elevator dinged two.

"I-I thought you kid-took Rogue to New Orleans to resue your father. That's what she told us."

"Ain't family a bitch?"

Their ears then filled with the terrible din of a tremendous explosion, and below their feet they felt the aftershocks, and the tiny elevator suddenly began to rock and sway, violently above a dark, long chasm of nothing.

* * *

Author's Note: So here it is, I present chapter-what is this, nine? eight? My brain's been pulled like taffy ever since January, but I've managed to squeeze out some brain liquid on my word processor, and I present it in the form of this chapter. So leave a review if you got this far, let me know what you liked and what you hated. 


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: Posting a chapter two weeks before exams? I oughta have my head examined, what do you think? Ah well. I usually don't do these at the start of a chapter, but this one's different, and I really wanted the end of this chapter to be _the end_. Give it some thought after you read it. Usual rules apply, these characters aren't mine and don't post this story without my permission. Please, please review this.

* * *

"Bonjour." The French expression for hello, and yet it struck in Rogue a great dread. It was not the word, to be fair to the French language, which scared Rogue so much as who she knew was speaking it.

"What do yah want?" She made a deliberate effort to force every word through her teeth and purple-stained lips. Behind her, she heard Remy's boots clop onto the floor, entering her room. She still did not turn to face him and kept her eyes trained on the book splayed open in her lap.

" Oh, 'm jus' celebratin' my good health. Y'heard I got banged up? And on my firs' mission fo' de good guys." Rogue caught that whiff of sarcasm.

"Ah wish Ah'd had a camera."

"Dat's not funny chere," he said in voice that made it clear he got the joke. "I jus' about to head off de grounds fo' a few hours. Maybe y'wanna come, we could grab a coffee."

"Ain't interested."

"Yi don' like coffee?"

"Ah lahke coffee jus' fahne," She didn't see it, but she knew he was grinning at that. Dense as a brick, that was how she had decided to describe him somewhere between New Jersey and West Virginia. She could still recall that wide grin he displayed at every insult she lobbed his way. He'd worn it like a shield. "Why are yah in my room? Uninvited, Ah maght add."

"Now dat's where y' wrong," he interjected, and Rogue looked up, "Yo roommate, Kitty, came outside round de time I was enjoyin' a cigarette with Petey. De girl maght have a t'ing fo' him. Ei'ter wat, I told her I wanted and she told me where t'find you. Perfectly inivited." _Note to self: Kill Kitty Pride and eat her bones,_ thought Rogue.

"Whaht exactly did yah tell her yah wanted?" When she asked that, Remy's grin grew wider.

" M' takin' you out fo' a night on de town! Anywhere y' wanna go is yo' choice," He declared with a great sweeping gesture before squatting on his haunches roughly a foot from where Rogue was sitting. "See, lotta t'ings went t'rough my head past few days. See, I been wonderin' why we don' know more 'bout each other, and finally, it came t'me. We ain't spendin' 'nough time together. So, I t'ink dinner sound perfect."

"Remy, why are yah interested in meh at all?" He grinned.

"Cause y' good lookin'" He said simply, grinning when her face twisted in a mixture of shock and annoyance. She even considered slapping, hell, she _wanted_ to slap him for that comment, but she held the urge. Instead, she stood, pushing herself against the side of her bed and stood up, looking down at him.

"Thaht's the only reason yah got fer chasin' meh? Cause' Ah'm some sorta eye candy for yah," Rogue snorted with derision as she snapped her book shut and tucked it under her arm. "Ah don't know why Ah expected more outta yah." She had barely made it two steps to the door before she felt his hand wrapped around the smooth material of her shirtsleeve. She spun around with a deathglare already cold and set in her hazel eyes.

"Dat's exactly why I wanna take you out tonight. I want a chance to get t'know you, 'M interested in what's going on inside you."

"The only thing yah're interested in is between mah-

"Ears? I want inside yo' head, plain and simple. Not t'say ain't interested in y'body, but there's somethin' goin' on in y'head and 'M lookin' t'be involved. " Rogue let her sneer soften ever so slightly, but she still wrenched her arm out of his grasp. He let her go easily, and she glanced once between him and the sleeve, noticing the slight wrinkles of his grasp were scarcely above the hem.

"Yah could'a hit skin, then where'd yah be? Back in tha infirmary?"

"Nowhere I ain't been before," He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and made like he was exiting the room. When he passed Rogue, however, he leaned in close to her ear and whispered, in a low and seductive tone several octaves below his normal register, "And no place I wouldn't mind bein' again."

She pushed him away, hard, and he landed sitting on Kitty's bed, a stuffed purple dragon falling in his lap from its former perch on the pillow.

"Yah just don't get it, do yah? It ain't that Ah don't want to touch, Ah want to. Ah want to so bad somedays I think it's gonna give meh a heart attack just thinkin' about it. Ah got a list of all the ways Ah wanna touch people! Ah maght beh a mutant, but that doesn't mean Ah ain't got desires like everyone else. But everyone else ain't got the risks Ah got," Rogue's voice cracked, and her pitch rose slightly, so slight you wouldn't have noticed unless you were paying close attention, but she continued on. "Remy, do yah realize that Kitty's been mah best friend for almost four years and Ah've never been able to hug her without checkin' mah arms first? Ah gotta make sure mah arms are covered every day of mah life, and the one person who's been nicer to me than anyone else in the world calls it a gift. Ah gotta gift. So there, since yah wanted it so badly, is what its lahke bein' in mah head. There yah go Remy, now fuck off." And she stormed out of the room, leaving Remy sitting there slack-jawed and stunned, clutching a stuffed dragon.

* * *

Given all this, it was understandable that Rogue was displeased to see Remy a second time, less so given his condition. It put her in a mood that was already foul due to a splitting migraine, something that felt like a chasm opening inside her skull. She hadn't even wished to leave her room, but she was out of aspirin and her Ibuprofen allergy negated anything in Kitty's first-aid kit. So that left her skulking down the smooth metal corridor of the subbasement, each footstep echoing painfully between her ears as she pushed open the door to the infirmary and unsteadily walked through Dr. McCoy's office and into the infirmary itself. The aspirin was not hard to find, although right before she had found it, while her mind was still on Remy and the earlier encounter, one of the machines had begun beeping and Rogue was sure, right then and there, that her head was going to explode. She had torn the cap from the bottle and swallowed to pills, dry, the bitter medication leaving a chalky, putrid taste the whole way down. The room itself was darkened, but there was enough light to see and move around.

_Stupid prick…gets drunk and then makes Scott run cleanup duty._ Rogue's mind then brought up the unrequited crush that had once existed between her and Scott, mostly on her side of the mat._ Who can blame him,_ she thought bitterly,_ What sorta chance did Ah have, goin' up against Miss American Pie ova therhe?_ Her thoughts, unbidden, played against her, bringing up swirling images of the one she had chased and the one now chasing her. She thought back to what he said, about wanting in her head, and even the sentence was enough to leave a foul taste on her tongue. _Get in mah head? Ah gotta enough people in mah head as it is._ She cast a glance outwards, and caught a glance of Jean. Without quite knowing why, Rogue walked over to her bedside. She remembered Jean as one of the first X-men she met, all the way in Mississippi. Jean had appeared to be the type of girl Rogue would have a natural distaste for, and she would have had Jean not been so earnest in every nice deed she did. She never performed a deed for recognition, rather; she did it for the simple reason that it was the nice, polite thing to do.

Rogue thought about all this, everything that had happened to her since joining the X-men, since realizing she was a mutant, and while she had been given all the patience and understanding she deserved and then more, she couldn't help but feel she didn't belong. It was not the people, or the house, just a small gut feeling that acted like a weight to every mood Rogue was in, weighing down the good times while magnifying the bad. And all she could think, right as she caught a twitch in Jean's fingers, was _Maybe this ain't where Ah belong afta all…maybe humanity ain't worth savin'… _

Rogue didn't even realize she had been thrown until she collided with the wall at great force, sliding to the ground in a heap of limbs along with anything else that had been tossed in her direction. She brought her hand gingerly to her side, brushing against what she guessed were at least two cracked ribs. Her right leg shouted in pain, but she felt no broken bones, just bruises and a shrill ring in her ears. She darted her head about, and what she saw made her blood run cold. There, where she had been standing, Jean Grey hovered above the floor and her hair surrounded her in fiery halo. Above her, the lights flickered once, twice and then went out completely, followed very shortly by the stark white glow of the emergency lights that mixed with the burning remains of the hospital bed and equipment unfortunate enough to be in blast radius. girl seemed unaware of any outside stimulus, but there was a cold glint in her eye that Rogue had only seen once before. It was the steely gaze of someone unconcerned with life or death. Her mind flashed back to once before, back in high school, and that was when she heard Jean in her head.

_What I was then is paltry compared to what I am now,_ and when Rogue attempted to choke out a reply, taking in a sharp, pained breath, she heard _I am uninterested in your opinions, Rogue. Stay out of my way and your body will mend in time._ Rogue watched, slack jawed, as Jean let her bare feet touch the ground, lightly stepping towards the door. If you asked her later, she would not have been able to put it into words, but Rogue dreaded the idea of Jean reaching that door. Shaking away her injuries, using her fear as adrenaline, Rogue jumped and chased after Jean, making it within a hair's width before she felt every muscle in her body tense as stiff as steel.

"I can cause your brain to pour out your ears. I can disconnect your brain stem from your spinal column in the time it takes you to blink. You are not the focus of my ire, so I would advise you not to blindly step into my path. Now," and Rogue felt every pressure point of her body simultaneously trigger, and the sensation made her vision go white with pain. "Do not interrupt again," she hissed and Rogue clattered to the ground, broken and beaten. She wheezed out a pained gasp and her head fell to the floor. The slick, cold tile felt good against her flushed cheeks, and on her lips she could taste the blood that poured from her nose. Her eyelids felt heavy against her emerald eyes, and she was about to allow exhaustion to overtake her, when she caught sight of Jean's ankle. Rogue pulled, out of nowhere, one last shred of strength from her bowels and lunged, landing her palm on Jean's ankle, right before everything went black.

* * *

Things were developing on a similarly poor path in the elevator that currently contained Scott and Remy. Remy was still splayed out on the floor, although now his eyes darted wildly about inside their heavy lidded sockets, the cloud of intoxication temporarily lifted by simple animal fear. Scott stood with his knees bent slightly and both his arms extended outwards, walking an invisible balance beam. The only light came from Scott's cell phone, and even that felt harsh on the dull headache forming above his eyes.

"We gonna die?" Remy managed to whisper.

"No. No, we're going to be alright, but we need to get out of this elevator. There's a maintenance hatch in the ceiling," Scott tilted the cell phone towards the ceiling, and discovered his intention within the space of seconds. Standing on the balls of his feet, he was just able to jostle the hatch out of its cradle. "Remy, I'm going to pull myself up onto the top of the elevator, then I'm going to pull you up. Are you alright to move?" Scott focused the light on Remy momentarily and the small pool of light glowed garishly of Remy's skin, exaggerating his tired state.

"I'll be alrahgt. Ain't de firs' time I been drunk." Scott nodded and handed his cell phone to Remy before grasping all he could of the hatch's jamb. It was laborious and his arms ached as though his veins pumped concrete, but he managed up on top of the elevator all the same.

"Did'n' know dey still put dese t'ings in elevators. Had ta replan half a bank robbery 'cause o dat." Remy muttered once they were both out of the cabin.

"Xavier doesn't like to take chances." Said Scott as he grabbed onto a thin metal ladder running the length of the elevator shaft and began climbing up. Remy followed soon after.

* * *

The explosion awoke the entire mansion; true, but one resident, Raymond Crisp, had been up long before. Suffering from a bout of insomnia possibly due to a crucial upcoming French exam, he had been working on his fourth cup of milk when the mansion floor shook, jostling the glass from his hand. It shattered on the floor, but he hardly noticed it. An explosion meant trouble and trouble at the mansion was never good. He walked out of the kitchen with determination in each footstep, stalking down the halls in search of the noise. As the hallway spilled out into the foyer, he saw from behind Jean Grey, floating maybe a foot off the ground. He took his steps slowly and clenched his hands into tight fists. He'd never liked the girl, and although his feelings towards her could not be classified as hate, this was the first time he felt fear at seeing her. And from the back, no less. He let a small electric charge travel through his hands, small, silent crackles of white and blue. His feet softly tapped the floor on the toes and balls of his feet, so it was a great surprise to him when he saw Jean spin towards him, and suddenly he too was floating in air, complete loss of control over his extremities. Her voice echoed loud and cruel through his head, but he heard none of the words. He saw her eyes, and that was enough. Her eyes showed no physical change, but behind them he could see no soul, nothing to indicate that the person before him, in complete control of his mental faculties, was anything more than a shell. A tiny little smirk crossed her lips, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his teammate, the rest of the X-men, converging at the top of the stairs. That was when Jean telekinetically crushed his skull, and he crumpled to the carpet before letting out one last death-rattle of a breath. Raymond Crisp was dead.

"What was that?"

"I do not know, Logan."

"Did-did Jean just…" Kitty attempted to force the rest out, but sentence refused to be structured. Her mind, in the grips of dumb, reptilian fear, had simply seized up, refusing to acknowledge what it had witnessed.

"Jean, stop!" The professor shouted, and was rewarded with his chair tipping from under him. Ororo righted his chair and carefully helped him into it.

"Is this how you heroes have fun," Wanda suddenly screamed from behind the crowd. "Father was right; you people are sick!" She barreled through the thin crowd that parted for her, all secretly, subconsciously relived.

Wanda came from behind, hitting Jean in the back with a sharp hex bolt. While the bolt managed to bring Jean to the ground, she recovered quickly enough, and within seconds was inside Wanda's head.

_**What a fascinating little mind this is. Two memories, but two complete sets. Seamless, you see the second set as real. But a duplicate is an inferior**_, and with that, Wanda felt a crushing flood of memories. She saw a snow-capped mountain with a single small dome on top. She saw a thin orange man sliding down a slope, and quickly she realized that she was also on skis, in a rapid pursuit. She saw her father and a man she did not recognize standing over her, and their discussion was all about her. _Father? False…memories…but Father was good…wait…mental institution? Father?_ Images rushed through her head, memories of her swinging with her father alongside memories of her tied up and drugged on cold metal bed, but she found she couldn't concentrate because of the noise. It took her several minutes to realize that the sound was her own screams.

* * *

His claws seemed to spring out faster than usual, but Logan would not allow them to enter back. He was halfway down the stairs before he felt a delicate hand on his shoulder, and even through his t-shirt he could feel the calluses from years of tilling soil and trimming branches.

"I ain't usin' 'em on her. I just wanta bring her down enough so we can figure what's goin' on," Logan cast a glance towards Wanda, who was curled in the fetal position, still screaming. "Jean just killed one person and god knows what she did to Maximoff." He turned over his shoulder, making eye contact with Ororo for the first time.

"She's a friend and a student, Logan. How do your propose we fight someone that was close friends with almost everyone here?"

"We ain't fightin' her. Just let me distract her long enough for you to get somethin' good built up. Take her down and let the professor take it from there. How's that sit with you?"

"Just be careful, Logan." Outside, Jean was levitating a black van, allowing it to spin in midair faster and faster and faster-

CRASH!

The van smashed against the front of the mansion, against a high wall that was no more than glass and steel, a decorative touch to the mansion that now transformed into hundreds of tiny, twinkling weapons, raining down on the crowd. The van scraped down the wall, and took out both front doors before crashing to the front porch, rolling down the sairs and finally coming to rest on its side.

"Hank, get the students down to the danger room!" Charles yelled, although most of the students had already run towards the back of the institute; Hank gathered up the few still left and ran in the direction of the others as Ororo and Logan bounded out onto the grass, where Jean was busy throwing another car into the air. Logan silently nodded to Ororo, who began rising into the air until the entire institute resembled a model.

"Jean," Logan screamed, but he was cut off by being thrown fifty feet into a brick wall. He lay still for several moments until his spine repaired. "It's gonna take a lot more than that to take me out."

_**Then come closer and let me find out what will.**_ Logan glanced up at the sky and saw the briefest flash of lightening, then charged forward with all the strength his legs could muster. His claws glinted with flame from one of the cars Jean had tossed in the air.

He came with five feet of her. She was no longer levitating, just standing on the ground, and there was no evil in her eyes.

Logan paused.

"Logan, help me." And then the skin on his forearms split in two, equally, running quickly up his biceps and to his chest. The adamantium glinted softly as Logan saw the metal peel from his bones. His skin continued to split and peel, gushing blood muscle as the metal bonded to his bones years prior was torn from his form. His legs were ripped from their sockets and he collapsed like a sock puppet to the ground. The last was his skull; it opened and hair and bloody flesh fell into his eyes as he allowed all his senses to dull, and he drifted into a dark chasm.

* * *

Ororo could see none of this from her spot in the sky; all she could see were the clouds surrounding her. Her eyes were shut and her mind was concentrated in silent prayer. Around her, the clouds darkened at her mind's command and lightening crackled around her. Her teeth rattled inside her jaw and she knew that she was not only pushing herself to the limit, but the atmosphere as well. The lightening crackled, spitting towards the earth below in rapid machine-gun succession. She allowed herself to float back to earth, concentrating the lightening closer and closer to Jean. She could now see small craters where the lightening had hit, a few small fires at the edges. Suddenly, her flying was disrupted, and her momentum increased exponentially and she hurtled toward the ground, crashing into the side of a fountain and snapping her arm.

_**I do not like the little firefly bugs, no I do not,**_ Ororo heard before she passed out.

* * *

The door struggled against them, attempting to remain shut, but after several seconds it yielded to Scott's hands, sliding into the wall with little resistance. Scott crawled out, followed by Remy, and within seconds they noticed both Raymond's lifeless corpse with flames glinting in the drying pool of blood.

"Who's dat?" Scott approached the body cautiously; putting his back to him as Remy genuflected, making a quick sign of the cross over his chest before standing back up.

"It's Ray Crisp, he's one of the students. But who would…" He looked out the front doorway, all it was since the doors themselves lay in crumpled heaps. "Magneto?"

"Don' t'ink so, mon ami. Take a look." They both looked outside, where things had grown unusually silent. The very earth was torn up by unseen hands, and in the middle of it all, Jean floated there with a faint smile above what looked like a massacre. The ground was torn to shreds with huge mounds of dirt standing like mountains. Ororo lay motionless at the base of one mound with her arm bent at a violently odd angle. A body lay in a clearing, and Scott guessed it was Logan only because the pulpy mass of muscle and tissue and blood was still breathing by some hideous mean.

"Jean?" He whispered his question, and it seemed that it could have stopped the sun itself from rising. She stopped moving and inside his head, Scott heard

_Scott?_ And she fell, plummeting to the earth. Scott blocked out everything else, running across the lawn at a breakneck pace, until he reached the large mound of dirt that made up the outside ring of the crater Jean had plummeted into.

Scott cautiously stepped forward, past the flaming wreckage and scorched earth, and peered into the eye of this maelstrom. He had prepared himself to see anything, even Jean's lifeless body, but what he saw still took his breath away. There, in a crater maybe ten feet deep, Jean lay huddled in the fetal position loudly sobbing. Momentarily forgetting the events of the past hour, he slid most of the way down the wall of the crater, making it to Jean's side in record time.

"I-I think I killed Rogue," She said hoarsely, keeping her back to Scott. "Oh god, Scott, I killed Rogue. And Ray. Oh, god, and what about Logan, and Ororo, and Wanda?" She asked before choking out another sob and throwing her arms around Scott. She shook against him as she continued to cry, and her sobs mixed with the crackling fire above them.

"Jean, you-he- no one's dead."

"You're lying," she said into his chest. "I can hear your thoughts. What am I? What happened?"

"I don't know, Jean. I don't know." And Scott hugged her tighter as tears began streaming down his own cheeks.

"I can't do this, Scott. I'm responsible for all of this, and I have no idea why I did it. All I remember is anger. I felt every emotion, every tiny little change. Then I got to anger, and all I could remember was every time someone called me mutie. Everything Principal Kelly did. Scott, he tried to-oh god!" Jean yelled, and her body shook with another fresh bout of sobs. The two sat in relative silence for a very long time, no sounds but tears and breathing and fire.

"We-we should get back to the others."

"I'm not going back, Scott," Jean said simply, unwrapping her arms from him. "I can't. I disfigured Logan-"

"Logan will heal, Jean." She took several steps back, pacing the length of the crater before speaking.

"But not Ray. Or Wanda. Or Rogue. What about them?" Jean waited several minutes for an answer. "I can't go back to that, Scott. I-I'm sorry; I don't know what this thing is, inside of me, but it scares me enough that I'm willing to anything I can to make sure that this never happens again." Neither had noticed, but they had both started crying again.

"Jean, no. Please, the professor can help, whatever it is, whatever is happening. There's other options." She stepped up to him, lightly, and kissed him, keeping one hand behind her back. There was another long pause, neither wanting to break the silence.

"Jean, please don't do this. I love you."

"I love you too, Scott. Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Live."


	11. Chapter 11

The funeral took place three days after Jean Grey's death. Three caskets were set up in the back yard, three coffins for three friends lost. Xavier, and McCoy delivered eulogies for the three fallen students, and Ororo stood up to say a few words. She kept her words brief; she was still weakened from the head injury. Kitty attempted to deliver a eulogy for Rogue, but three words in and she was overcome by tears. Bobby Drake spoke for Ray, telling the story of their first week in the mansion and an aborted attempt to make laxative brownies that ended en route to the girls' dormitories thanks to Logan's nose. Thin smiles drew across several lips as Bobby described how Ray shot insult after insult at Logan until three silver claws buried themselves into the wall and Ray earned the both of them a weeks worth of early-dawn danger room sessions, the first of many according to Bobby.

Scott was the last to stand up; no one had doubted that he would want to give the last word on the person to whom he had dedicated so much of his life. Standing in front of Jean's coffin, however, he found himself unable to say anything. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Approaching Jean's coffin with soft footsteps, he placed the box in the palm of her hand, whispered something in her ear and then walked through the gathering of people and into the mansion without another word.

* * *

One resident that had not attended the funeral was Wanda. She had remained in her room for the three days following her own confrontation with Jean Grey. Nothing to eat or drink, Wanda had retreated to the sanctity of her bed and remained there.

"How ya doin' sis?" She heard the voice come from beyond the bed, but she needed no eyes to tell her who was speaking.

"Pietro!"

"Yea, hey, I know this is bad time for everyone and all, what with the deaths, but I just thought I'd stop by. How are those memories doing?" His words spat out machine-gun fast and upbeat, a mocking tone not lost on Wanda. Pushing her self off the bed with energy she didn't know she possessed, her footsteps light and unsure. Her stomach growled loud and wet.

"Why are you here?" She growled through anger and hunger.

"Big Brother can't visit his sister? I'm hurt Wanda, really. Weren't we always closer than two peas in a pod? I'm pretty sure that's true in at least one of those back-stories currently floating through that little noggin," Wanda's head felt light. "And Magneto? Come on, he was a great father. Don't you remember all those trips to carnivals?"

"That didn't happen! You were never my big brother and he was never a father. I spent my childhood in a cell so small I couldn't even lay flat! Do you what happened in that place?"

"Course I do. A nightmare from which there can be no waking, does that about cover it? Maybe, 'Complete and utter torture, a mind-bending experience unlike no other', would that work better little sis?" Wanda's head was now pounding.

"Stop calling me sis," Wanda screamed, and fired off a blue hex bolt. She felt her energy ebb almost instantaneously, but Pietro just stood there, nary a scratch to his form. He just stood there with a smug smirk, leaning on one of the bed's finials as Wanda waited for her energy to return to her, panic rising in her throat. "Why are you still here? I hit you!"

"Funny thing about that, lil' sis, hallucinations aren't really something you can hit, at least, not in the normal usage of the word," Wanda just stared blankly, still feeling dazed. "Ok, I was hoping you'd figure this out yourself, but I guess Big Brother needs to come to the rescue once again."

"Stop calling yourself that!"

"You haven't eaten anything in three days, that water glass next to your bed been empty almost as long, and I don't think you were exactly the picture of a balanced diet before you got here. Last I can recall Brotherhood house didn't stock up too well on health food."

"You mean, you're just in my head. I'm standing here talking to air?"

"Not so much standing. You passed out five minutes ago."

* * *

Along a thin dirt road, a lonesome figure stumbled through the muck and grass that separated the two-lane blacktop from the woods beyond. The figure cradled an arm marked by a long, deep slash still oozing thick blood. Other cuts and scratches adorned the parts of her exposed to the elements by the tattered remnants of clothing that hung to her thin body. She didn't breath; her breath came out in ragged spurts and wheezes and her eyes hung dimly in her skulls, half shrouded by eyelids. Behind her, she heard a distant whine. What does that mean, she wondered.

A car. A car meant a person driving, a person that could lead her to safety. But where was it coming from. Her rain, starved for food and sleep, couldn't place the sound. She tried to take another step, but her foot caught something and she fell into the mud. Behind her, she could tell the car was close, but no longer possessed the strength to hold herself on her feet. Feebly, she raised an arm out of the muck, but the car drove past.

This is death, her mind said. Close your eyes and it will be quick. Knowing nothing else, she complied.

My god, child! What the devil happened to you," She was yanked out of that mad pit so fast she almost lost what consciousness she had left. As it was, all she could do was stare at her rescuer. Old man. Nice man. "Can you speak?"

"Cold." She said softly.

"Of course," He unwrapped his jacket and threw it around her as he led her towards his car. He sat her on the backseat, where almost immediately she lay down. "You're in good, cpable hands, Dear. My name is Dr. Nathaniel Essex." The last thing she saw before falling asleep was a filthy clump of white hair that fell into her eyes. She was too tired to brush it away.

* * *

After the funeral, Talia had snuck into the shower while most everyone else slinked off to their bedrooms. The preacher's daughter was having a hard time with everything, not because of overwhelming emotions but rather the lack of them. She had no frame of reference for these people, and what nagged her was the wonder, was she supposed to mourn people she'd hardly met or was this guilt just a result of her upbringing? Exhaling the last of the smoke from a hastily rolled joint, she let the last bit of paper dance away on the wind, put out her incense, and made the walk back to her room.

She was by Wanda's side before her shower caddy hit the ground. Talia felt breathing, slow and ragged, but there was breathing. Grabbing a cup from Wanda's night table, she filled it as fast she could in the bathroom and dumped much of it over Wanda's head upon returning.

"Gah-ack-What the hell, Pie-where…Talia? What the hell is going on?"

"I came in and found you on the floor. First time out of bed in three days, did you forget how to walk?"

"How would I forget how to walk?"

"Nevermind," Talia handed Wanda the glass, and she greedily drank. "So, what happened? Do you need me to grab the doctor or-

"No, I need something to eat, sustenance, food in stomach digesting and releasing sweet little nutrients. Look, I'm not too sure what the hell is going on, but I'm sifting through two sets of eighteen years of memories. That's thirty-six years, lot of memories to go through. But, I swear I will tell you all about it, I will share and have feelings and emotions and all those wacky things that normal people do. Just lead me to food."

* * *

On the ceiling above his bed, Scott counted ridges in tiles above his head. When he ran out of ridges, he counted cracks in the paint, and when that was done he simply counted. He was desperately trying to focus on something, anything but what his mind wanted to focus on.

Jean. God he could still hear her scream. He could-

"You in there? Scotty, open up," _What in the world could he want,_ Scott wondered. He started off the bed, and then stopped. It was probably just another meal, and he didn't feel like eating at the moment. He stopped still, and listened at the door. "I know you in there, I can hear the sound of responsibility." Another moment, then two, then finally Scott heard heavy footsteps, muffled by carpet, walking away from his door. He let out a breath he hadn't noticed being held and fell back onto his pillow, where Jean's death played again in his head, unbidden.

"_Live," and her words were punctuated by the sharp roar of a defense turret, the type scattered all about the school's grounds. Scott fired off a blast from his eyes, melting the turret to useless ballast before rushing to Jean's side. He picked her up to cradle her, and immediately he felt warm blood running in rivulets and jagged bone. He looked into her eyes and begged and pleaded and screamed for her to be safe, to just hang on for one more second. He could hear the voices behind him, the others were close, but it was no use. Her green eyes were already clouding over as her life ebbed from her body._

Scott brought his fists to his temples in an attempt to will away the memory when there was a sharp rap at his balcony window. Curious, and sensing a distraction from his thoughts, he pulled back the curtain.

"See, I knew you was in there." Scott opened the door and quickly stepped out onto the balcony.

"How the hell did you get up here?"

"Trellis."

"There isn't a trellis below my balcony."

"But there is one three balconies over. Aren't y' gonna even ask why 'm here?" Scott could already feel his patience wearing thin.

"Ok, fine, why are you here." With that, Remy grinned wide and produced a manilla envelope from the folds of his trench coat.

"Special delivery for a Mr. Summers," As Scott took the package, Remy pulled out a cigarette and lit it before asking, "Y'mind if I smoke?"

"Very much."

"Oh. You got an ashtray?"

"Well, if I said you-" Scott finally looked up from the envelope. "What was the point of asking?"

"It was polite." Scott sighed, turning his attention back to the package.

"What is this, anyway?"

"I ain't got X-ray vision. Someone called me up yesterday an' asked me t' deliver dis envelope to your hands only. Very specific, paid me a nice ten thousand dollar courier fee."

"So you have no idea what's in here? Someone just paid you ten thousand dollars to run something? This could be a bomb!"

"Hey, hey, y' watch yo' tone. I ain't an assassin and I ain't ever gonna be one. Now, I got ways of knowin' it ain't a bomb or anythin' else gonna kill you," He exhaled a large plume of smoke. "Besides, I like you. There ain't a whole lot o' people in this world can deal with a drunk Remy." Scott sat back in one of the lounges and continued playing with the envelope. If he had any thoughts on what Remy had said, he did not express them. On one side, his name was scrawled in messy black marker, on the other side, several layers of clear packing tape held down the opening. He flipped it over and over in his hands before grasping one edge of the envelope and tearing in one swift motion. A small black book fell to the ground.

"Told you it wasn't a bomb."

"Remy, shut up." Scott said, flipping open the book to the first page...

_October 21, 2001: I scarcely know how to begin this. One of my finest students nearly destroyed my entire mansion along with everyone within. I know that it makes no sense, but Jean has always displayed the utmost control over her powers, something none too easy given the cerebral nature of her powers. I can recall the days before I was able to build my own psychic walls. But I suppose nostalgia for my own days of youth helps this situation none. The only reason my home was not destroyed was the unique powers of Rogue, although I am concerned for her well-being as well. One thing is for certain; I need to find out what caused this._

_October 24, 2001: Every attempt I have made to contact Moira has failed- would she even want me referring to her as Moira anymore? Or is it strictly Dr. McTaggart now? I made a poor choice, but I was coming to her as one intellectual to another. I had hoped we could leave personal feeling out of the matter. Well, dwelling won't get me anywhere, I'll just have to do this without Moira's help. I started by contacting Jean's mother. Curious case. She was very willing to help, even offering to visit at the mansion for a weekend, and while it seems like nothing more than paranoia and the frustration of hitting one's head against a wall, I feel she was hiding something. A shame my telepathy does not work at long ranges. I still can't shake that feeling; her mother sounded like there was something more to be told._

_October 25, 2001: Met with Rogue today. I want to say that everything is okay, but how could I tell? Rogue internalizes so much; she refuses to share anything with me_ _and any psychic contact is taken as a personal invasion. She's so troubled, but I cannot help her if she does not reach out to me._

_October 26__th__ 2001: Psychic session with Jean today. Nothing of any note, which of itself may be of note._

_October 28__th__, 2001: Something interesting-I did some checking on Jean's background. Well, I started the day after everything, but this is the first of everything I've dug up that is of note. A death certificate and autopsy report from around the time Jean's powers displayed themselves shows several signs of telekinetic intrusion. Using several means that I will not detail, I was able to view both reports. The autopsy contained several references to brain stem scarring, which could only have come from a psychic's intrusion. I've attempted to contact Jean's mother, but she has made it abundantly clear that she already believe I know too much. Unfortunately, this is the closest I've come to anything that could be a clue, I'm just going to keep hammering away at it._

_November 30__th__, 2001: The entire story finally comes out. Jean grey's mother told me what happened. The story I received when Jean first registered with cerebro was false. More to come…_

_Mrs. Grey originally told me that Jean had witnessed a friend in a car accident, and this trauama awakened her powers. I wish that were the case. Jean Grey was…Jean grey was molested by her natural father. That was the trauma that awakened her powers, killing her father by disconnecting his brain stem. I can't say I feel pity for him, but Jean, Jean was never told the truth. Her still burgeoning psyche buried the entire incident, and her mother, in an attempt to protect her daughter, lied about the abuse. _

_What to do? Tell Jean that her powers, the thing for which she is persecuted every day, killed her abusive father? I've worked so hard to convince her, convince all my students that these evolutionary gifts are just that-gifts. I can't. I lie between a rock and a hard place, but to do nothing is to the worst. _

"Dat's it?" Remy finally asked after a long silence. Scott didn't respond immediately, instead flipping through the rest of the book. The pages were all blank.

"I can't…this-this can't be true."

"Maybe a forgery?"

"Not a chance. I'd recognize Xavier's handwriting anywhere."

"Mon dieu," Remy muttered, briefly making the sign of the cross. "Hey, where you going?"

"I'm going to talk to someone," Scott said. "I owe you one for this, Remy."

* * *

Charles Xavier pored over the documents that were scattered about his desk, an insurance form here and a work order here, the mansion needed repairs and parents needed to be informed. How odd, he reflected, that he should come across Ray Crisp's file at that moment. Ray was abandoned without ever knowing his parents; Charles didn't even know if Raymond Crisp was the boy's real name. _ Dying without a name…_

"We need to talk, professor." Charles heard the contention in Scott's voice, but he didn't look up until a small black book landed in front of him. He recognized the thing immediately.

"Scott, where…where did you get that?"

"So it's real? You wrote it?"

"Scott, I-"

"Did You Write It!" Scott screamed. Xavier met the gaze of his student and held for several seconds before simply replying.

"Yes. I'm not going to waste time denying it Scott. You wouldn't be here if you actually had doubts." Xavier spoke as though a great weight was attached to every word.

"So what happened then…it's connected to what happened now?" Xavier made cold eye contact with Scott for several silent minutes before simply uttering

"Yes," with his hands folded.

"And when were you planning to tell me any of this?"

"I wasn't. Scott, this was a private matter. Jean developed a multiple personality disorder, I did everything-"

"I had a goddamned right to know! I-I was going to marry her. Now she's dead, and you're telling me this is none of my business? You've been acting strange ever since California, Professor, and think I'm finally starting to understand why!"

"And what would you have done, Scott? Would you have had her live with the memory of her liquefying her father's brain stem?"

"He was raping her! She was traumatized! You said it yourself, in that book you're so damned concerned about!" Their voices reached a fever pitch, spittle collecting at the corners of their mouths. But then, Scott started laughing. "You know, I didn't get it until now. That turret didn't misfire. Jean did

"Damnit Scott, I did what I thought was right. I did what I thought was in the best interests of the school and Jean."

"Well, at least we can agree there."

"Scott, I- I don't understand."

"I'm leaving the X-men. I'll be out of the mansion before five." Charles struggled for the words that could keep Scott in the room, if only for a minute, but they never came, and the door slammed shut behind Scott. At the sound of the door, Charles sighed, turning his chair to face out the window. He stared long and hard into the horizon.

Xavier Wept.

* * *

A/N: Scott Summers' journey will continue in part two.


	12. Part II: Prologue

_Prologue_

_Kent, England. 1882_

* * *

"Mr. Darwin, you have a visitor." A series of coughs were heard by the maid before an answer.

"Send them on their way. I cannot accept callers at this time."

"Sir, it's Dr. Essex to see you, he says it concerns a letter you sent him."

"Nathaniel? Offer him some tea and tell I shall be down to greet him presently." Charles waved his hands and jumped out bed, throwing on his clothing.

"Of course, sir."

"Forgive my appearance, Nathaniel, I hadn't expected any visitors. To be honest, I had almost begun to think I wouldn't see you in time." Darwin coughed into a silk handkerchief and collapsed into a tall oak chair. "How was the trip out?"

"Unfortunately, it seems Kent has not made the leaps in transportation that London has managed. Still, news of your ill health was important enough to draw me from the city."

"Never did care for the city life."

"Yes, well, I find the overall atmosphere more welcoming to men such as I."

"One of many differences between us." Nathaniel laughed.

"Of all the burdens to scientific enlightenment, ethics must be the saddest. Mental fallacy of the worst kind."

"You can believe whatever you want, Nathan. Come, I want to walk in the garden while I still have the strength." Nathanial held open the door as Charless limped out onto the spring air. The estate on which Charles Darwin lived was extraordinary, long green hills only marked off by a low stone wall that only extended some five hundred odd feet from the house

"How long have you been on that cane, Charles?"

"I fell maybe a week ago, in front of my wife. By the time I was able to get a word in, the doctor had already arrived. Fitted me with this and wouldn't hear a word of protest. " Nathaniel nodded but offered no response, and the two stood, drinking tea for several minutes. "You look the same as the day I met you."

"You're surprised?"

"No. It is why I called you out here, however."

"A scientist to the end?"

"You would expect the painter to put down his brush, or the musician to retire his piano? Death is as natural as anything else the human body does, I refuse to let something so trivial halt my studies."

"We can agree on that article."

"Yes," Charles limped over to the stone wall and sat down, shifting uncomfortably as he did so. "I used to play with my children on this wall."

"I didn't see your family around the manor."

"Shakespere at the theatre. I don't feel too much like limping about town these days. You really don't appear to have aged even a day. It's been almost forty years."

"What did you expect, Charles? You are the one that must suffer the sins of humanity." Charles grunted.

"I find that I am always more impressed by your analytical mind than your moralistic one."

"Morals bore me, Charles. Is this why you so urgently required my presence-an ethics lesson?"

"Hardly. You know why I invited you here Nathanial. A scientist to the end, as you would say."

"Is that all I am to the great Charles Darwin-a study?"

"Mutual respect, Nathanial, mutual respect."


	13. Part II: Chapter One

_Part Two: The Long, Slow Goodbye_

* * *

Three years later…

"How are your plants today, Wanda?" Ororo pushed aside a hanging leaf as she came upon the single planter set aside for the nineteen year old.

"The forget-me-nots still aren't blooming. Everything else sprouted no problem, but these stupid forget me nots just sit there." Wanda hit the dirt with a trowel as emphasis.

"That's not going to help anything, Wanda. Have you had lunch yet?"

"Huh? Oh, yea, I'm good." The two sat in relative silence with Wanda staring down her forget-me-nots and Ororo idly twirling a branch between her fingers

"Wanda, I have a friend of mine I would like you to meet."

"Um, ok," she said, craning her head in an attempt to see over the plants. "Where are they?"

"He's not here; he lives in New York," Ororo paused. "He's a doctor." The trowel fell from Wanda's hand.

"A what? He's a what?"

"Calm down, Wanda. He's a doctor, his name is Doctor Stephen Strange."

"Strange…Strange! As in Doctor Strange, the Avenger? You know Doctor Strange?"

"Yes, we've know each other for some time. The professor and I agree that lessons with him could greatly improve your control over your powers."

"Wait, I'm…I'm getting kicked out of here?"

"No! No, Wanda, of course not. You would travel to Brooklyn three times a week to study With Stephen. He's would teach you meditation techniques and the proper use of the magic you can control. All of us feel very positive about it, however I told Charles that it was your decision."

"My…my decision to go meet with an Avenger or not? Of course I'm gonna go meet him, It's Doctor fuckin' Strange!"

"Language, Wanda."

"Sorry. So, when do we go? Are you taking me or is the professor, or is Dr. McCoy? Does Dr. McCoy ever leave this place?"

"That is something else we wanted to discuss. Charles and I think that you've shown a great deal of responsibility, working as a member of the team and around the mansion. So, we thought that we would loan you transportation specifically for these lessons," Wanda's face went slack. " I must tell you, Wanda, we would be putting a great deal of trust in you and we would expect you to respect that that trust is not unconditional."

"So I go by myself, but no accidents, no joyriding, that sort of thing," Wanda paused. "Do I have to give you an answer this second?"

"Of course not, but we would like you to let us know by tomorrow. Just tell Charles or myself when you are ready."

* * *

"You're going to go, right? Tell me you didn't say no." Tj Royce, Wanda's roommate, hung her head off the foot board and played with a small ziplock baggie.

"I told her I didn't know yet."

"Ugh! You were just told you get a car, like the kind with engines, to just drive to New York city and hang out with an Avenger, An Avenger! They're like the X-men, except people like them. Do you know what I would give to have someone here give me a car and tell me, 'Hey, go hang out with the Avengers.' God, that would be sweet."

"They probably don't because of that baggie in your hand."

"What, this baggie? Wanda, no one here even knows."

"Tj, everyone knows."

"Then why do I still have this little baggie? Xavier doesn't strike me as the type to be toking in his chair," Wanda let out a loud laugh, and Talia jumped from her bed. "See, this why you need me on these trips. Laughter, companionship, plus I'm great arm candy."

"I don't need arm candy!" At this, Talia wrapped her arms around Wanda in a great, exaggerated hug.

"You want me there, admit it! The thought of leaving your poor best friend alone here, while you're in New York having the time of your life-

"Let go of me!"

"-just makes your poor heart break! Bring me with you!"

"Stop hugging me! I will bring you with me if you stop hugging me!" At once, Tj let go, spinning in a lazy circle and dancing.

"Victory goes to I yet again!" She jumped, backwards onto her bed, shooting another grin at Wanda.

"What am I supposed to tell the Professor, or Ms. Munroe? Did that come into play, or do you just take pleasure in that?"

"Tell 'em that you're concerned about the distance you have to travel, and having your best, best friend of three long years there with you will make you feel better. Tell them that I bring joy to you whenever I'm near."

"I think I'll tell them that you touch me at night." Tj stuck out her tongue.

* * *

_Three Days later…_

"You requested to see me, sir."

"Officer Summers, please, sit down. I guess I've got to start calling you Detective now."

"Yes sir, it's a great honor to be able to wear this shield after such a short time on the force."

"Well you'll do well to keep that in mind. I'm putting you with Bishop. He's a lieutenant, lot like you. You'll get along with him."

"Uh, well sir, I had-

"He's at the back of the bullpen, by the lockers. Dismissed, Detective." Scott sat there for a moment, stunned, as his new commanding officer focused on his computer screen. Shaking it off, Scott exited the closet-like office and entered the hive that was the Homicide division bullpen. Behind his glasses, his eyes went from right to left and to right again, until finally, his eyes rested on a man and all at once he knew this was Bishop. The smell of stale cigarettes wafted past his nostrils and he saw an overflowing ashtray despite the department-wide policy on non-smoking buildings.

"Are…are you Bishop?" The pen continued scratching the yellow legal pad.

"Leave any packages at the desk. I'll get them when I leave, like I do every other time."

"Detective Scott Summers, I'm your new partner."

"Partner," He turned and looked Scott up and down.

"You look young. Sure you're not supposed be at middle school?"

"I was considered a good enough officer for a gold shield."

"Give 'em six months and they'll have a vending machine out front with gold shields. Doesn't impress me. You hungry?" He asked, standing up. Even with Scott standing five-foot nine, Bishop towered over him.

"Am I…hungry? What kind of question is that?"

"The yes or no kind. Come on, I know a good breakfast joint, but they're only open until three." Bishop snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and walked toward the elevator. Scott stood for a minute before following, muttering to himself as he went.

* * *

"Why are we getting up at this hour? It isn't even light out? We don't need to beat the sun up." Talia tossed a bag at her feet and slid into the leather seat. The motor hummed idle, a nondescript sedan that wouldn't look out of place at any flea market.

"As I recall Talia, you requested to join Wanda, to show support."

"Yea, but I'm just as supportive at noon." Talia muttered, curling into the fetal position on her seat. The professor gave a small smirk and wheeled over to Wanda.

"You have the directions to Dr. Strange's apartment, Wanda?"

"They've been in the glove compartment ever since you gave them to me yesterday." She said with annoyance.

"And you know not to stop at any roadside attractions, no missives-"

"I know all of this. Why are you telling me what I already know?"

"Because it's not you I'm worried about, Wanda." Charles stated with a quick glance toward Talia, still trying to get comfortable.

* * *

Scott glared from behind his glasses at his first partner who was shoveling home fries into his mouth.

"Excuse my manners, I didn't a chance to eat 'fore I came in," Bishop said as though reading Scott's mind. He pushed his sausage around with a fork and shot another glance toward his new partner. "You don't talk much, kid."

"I guess…I guess I was expecting the first day to start out…differently."

"Yea, if I had a dollar every time I heard that one. Look, I didn't just drag you here 'cause of the eggs, which, by the way, yours are getting cold. I'm meeting an informant here. Should have been here by now." Bishop tapped his watch before returning to his food.

"Informant…for what?" Bishop shrugged.

"For informing," he said with a mouthful of food, sending bits of potato onto the table. "Kid's been in the underworld about as long as he's been alive, makes him useful to me. He's around your age-shit, there he is." Scott turned in his booth, and his mouth fell agape. There, standing on the curb looking no worse for wear in the three years since their last encounter, was the last person Scott expected to be informing on the police. He couldn't stop the name from rising in his throat, escaping as a whisper.

"Remy?"

* * *

Author's Note: Confused? Good. Don't worry, things will be explained. Now leave a review! Please.


	14. Part II: Chapter Two

Scott took a sip of his coffee and ground his back molars as they came up the restaurant. The cheap vinyl squeaked against the leather of Remy's trenchcoat as he slid in across from the two detectives.

"Kid, I want you to meet Robert Lord," Scott kept his eyes low and grunted. "Ignore my partner. He's new and kind of upset I didn't roll out the red carpet for his promotion." Bishop and Remy shared a quick laugh.

The table shook, slightly.

"Is that so? Well, he looks a little soft, " Remy grinned and ordered a cup of coffee, while Bishop walked toward the restroom, muttering something about "cheap dime-store meat." The two were quiet, content to let the sounds of others' problems wash over them. The coffee came and Scott listened as Remy stirred the sugar and the spoon tapped against the mug.

"So, Robert, you known Bishop long?"

"Bishop and I go back a ways. Bout three years now, I'd have to say."

"Well, we ran together in the same group for a bit. Kinda funny, we didn't get a long at all. I thought he was an uptight prick and me, well, I'm guessin' my reputation met him long before I did," He waved the waitress over and ordered a coffee, then began poking through a menu as he resumed his story. "Now, we ain't do too much at first, but we run into some trouble the first mission we go on. After that, he found out his girlfriend been experimented on by his mentor and he left the same day. Nobody around there seen or heard from him in three years until the day Robert Lord find himself sitting across the table from him." Scott stared with his mouth slack.

"Well, that's…nice. I'm…glad you two were able to work together."

"Don't bullshit, Summers." The name lingered.

"What are you doing here?" Scott finally asked.

"Running into ghosts, apparently."

"Don't be cute."

"Bishop asked me for breakfast. He know about-"

"No."

"No? How you get detective so quick and they don't know about your little exploits?"

"My winning personality." The table shook, and a fork fell to the floor.

"Come on, tell me."

"I was called on a coke bust about three months ago. Just me and another guy, supposed to be an easy take down, right? Reported as a guy dealing out of an apartment, nothing serious? Well, turns out it's not one guy, it's four, and they're all loaded, completely coked out. We knock on the door and announce ourselves and they start shooting, clipped the other officer twice, once in the shoulder," Scott gestured. "And once in the knee. I managed to keep him alive and took out three of the four in the apartment. The last guy slipped out the fire escape. I took after him, chased down the alley way for about a mile, finally took him down and alive. Turned out he was wanted for three murder-for-hires, one of which was a judge."

"Impressive. You got every right to be proud."

"Well-" Scott's reply was swallowed up by the explosion. It ripped through the restaurant, toppling booths and spraying glass over patron and worker alike. It all went black.

* * *

Several miles away, Wanda and TJ were in the car, approaching New York. Stuck in rush hour traffic, they had for some time felt the aftershocks and heard the booming in the distance.

"What is that? Feels like an earthquake." Talia roused from her slumber.

"It can't be an earthquake. It's been going on for a while."

"Oh no," Tj slammed her hand on the armrest. "Sounds like a job for the X-men!" She said before breaking down in a series of giggles. Wanda rolled her eyes, and her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out, and her jaw dropped at the news. She glanced behind her once and then pulled the car out into the breakdown lane. She gunned hard, the buzz of the rumble strip was loud, and she took the first exit she could.

"So..."

"Did I call it? I called it, didn't I?"

"Shut up. You won't believe what's just happened. He's just going to be lucky it's me getting there first."

* * *

Scott came to under a fog. Dust clung heavy to the stench of spilled food and blood that floated through the air. He felt the sting of blood in his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet. He brought a hand to his head and it came back wet and red. Outside Several feet away, Remy brushed himself off. Scott could see a large red welt beginning to form near his temple.

"What the hell just happened?" Bishop came running out from the bathroom, gun already drawn. The two were silent for a moment; in the distance they could hear another explosion in the distance. Closer, survivors began to moan and cry under the rubble. Beside Remy, Scott noticed their server, crushed under a table and gushing blood onto the tiles.

"I have no idea.

"It's just one person," Remy was at the gaping maw that had once been the entrance. 'What y'all waitin' for?" He ran, and Bishop and Scott followed quickly, leaping over upturned tables as they chased Remy's billowing coat.

"Wait, Lebeau, you can't just run after a bomber!" Bishop tripped on an upturned piece of concrete, falling into a fast growing puddle under a gushing fire hydrant. Scott helped him to his feet, the two soaked in an instant. The chilled morning air hit both of them like a slap. They took shelter under the nearest awning where Remy had already hid.

A few hundred feet away, the figure brought his hands out, another explosion. The motion revived a dead memory in Scott's head. He stared at the figure in the distance, trying to make out a facial feature. He recognized the gesture, and could even put a face and name to it. But he pushed that thought out of his head, because for him to admit that would mean lightening had struck twice.

"You two law keepers got anything planned? This seems to be more your territory."

"Remy, who does that look like?"

"Remy? Who the hell is Remy?"

"Who, the bomber? He looks like a bomber."

"Don't give me shit, this is serious!"

"You lied about your name? Shit, I knew you were fishy, I fucking knew it! Why I don't listen to my gut I'll never know." It was a scene of mass confusion, despite a dangerous attacker only a few hundred feet from them. It was then that Wanda and Talia came around the bend, Wanda's fists were already a nasty blue.

"Scott?" She dropped her hands immediately.

"Wanda? Tj? What are you doing here?"

"This is no place for civilians. You ladies are going to have to get out of here."

"Xavier called. That's Lance over there, but his powers are going apeshit. My words, not his."

"Lance Alvers? Yea, I guessed. What else?"

"Not much. We're all that's coming for now though. The rest of them are off on some mission with the Fantastic Four."

"Well, I'm not involved with that. As far as I'm concerned, this is the responsibility of the NYPD." Another explosion rocked the ground, they felt the pavement groan and glass shatter and rain to the street. Above, news helicoptors buzzed, quicker than ambulances or aid.

"We've got more pressing issues, we can deal with this later. We need to take that guy down, now." Bishop growled.

"Look, I used to know him, real well. Let me try to talk to him."

"He don't look like he's in any mood to talk." Remy said, and Scott could see him checking out Tj with sly glances. If she noticed, she made no attempt to stop him.

"No, we try it," Scott said. "I'll go in behind in case you need backup. I assume you've been trained." Scott gestured toward the X patch on her shirt, half-hidden by her coat.

"Yea, I can handle myself."

"Hold on, newbie. You're going to let a civilian act as a terrorist negotiator?"

"Hey, copper, I think I can do this." Wanda yelled as she fired of a hex bolt in Lance's direction.

"You got a problem with mutants?" Bishop grinned, then made a fist. It began to glow a deep red.

"The opposite, actually. Now I know why they paired you up with me."

Scott shot Bishop a grin, then darted off, coming to a stop behind a bus on its' side. He kept a steady hand on his glasses as Wanda came to Lance's side.

"Lance? It's Wanda, you remember?" He turned to her, his face slack and his eyelids heavy and drooped. His breath was ragged and he smelled of body odor. He showed no recognition of her but he paused in his movements. He seemed to be only dimly aware of any outside stimuli. Gently, she lay a hand on his shoulder. He cocked his head, and collapsed to the pavement. Scott ran from his position.

"What happened?"

"I have no idea. He looked drugged."

"H was never able to anything of this magnitude before. He never attempted it either."

"I lost touch with him the day he moved out of that crapshack."

"Lady," Bishop came from behind with Remy and TJ in tow. "I don't know what the hell you just did but half of Manhattan owes you a thanks. Now, how's about we all get comfortable, wait for backup, and we start talking about what's going on and just who all of you are."

[Author's Note: Leave a review, whether or not you enjoyed it.]


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